


Cross My Path

by wittyy_name



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Bottom Lance, Cat Cafés, Cat keith, Cursed Keith (Voltron), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hopelessly in Love Keith, Lance's POV, M/M, Physically Rough and Emotionally Soft Sex, Shapeshifter Keith, Smut, Top Keith, Uncertain Lance, Witch Allura (Voltron), Witch Keith (Voltron), biting and scratching, honestly Catboy Keith, human Lance, protective keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27305416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittyy_name/pseuds/wittyy_name
Summary: Lance owns a witch themed cat cafe that rescues black cats. Each one has a unique collar and color coded name to help tell them apart. He's not supposed to play favorites, but he's already adopted his favorite, Red, as his own. Cold and distant to everyone, Red is extremely affectionate to Lance. Needy. Clingy. Protective. But Lance doesn't mind. He makes Lance's home a little less lonely. He's a little weird, but aren't all cats? He loves his baby boy, and he's eternally grateful for the day that little black fluff ball crossed his path.Lance doesn't think twice about Red's odd quirks. That is, until he wakes up with a naked stranger in his bed.And hey! Turns out Red is actually a witch named Keith who's been cursed to be a cat for twenty years. A really hot witch who's still very affectionate towards Lance.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 85
Kudos: 1852





	Cross My Path

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> I wrote this fic as a series of drabbles last year for October. Now I'm piecing it together and posting it as a oneshot! I hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> Cover art for this fic was done by Wolfpainters (Sora) - social media links in the end notes. 
> 
> Happy reading!

“ _Laaaaance_.” Hunk’s voice is high and sharp, wavering with this odd combination of exasperation and wariness that Lance has long since gotten used to

Lance keeps his eyes on the task at hand— the last time he looked away from the espresso machine, he burned himself pretty bad— but he does tilt his head in Hunk’s direction. “Yeah, buddy?”

“He’s doing the thing again.”

“Who?”

From somewhere behind him, he hears Pidge snort. “Who do you think? Hunk only ever complains about one cat.”

“That’s not true. He complained about Yellow for a while.”

“Only because that cat weighs like twenty pounds and wouldn’t get off of him. But you know he loves Yellow.”

“Everyone loves Red!” Lance hunches over the latte he’s been working on, meticulously drawing their signature cat in the foam. 

When they had first opened, they had a huge event dedicated to learning how to draw these things, giving away free drinks to customers as they practiced. It was a huge hit, and probably had a lot to do with their current success. And now he can do these little cat foam creations with his eyes closed. 

Sort of. 

He tried that once, and it kinda looked more like a distorted raccoon. 

“Lance,” Pidge says flatly, and he glances over his shoulder to meet her deadpan stare. 

“What? Red’s our good luck charm! He’s a good boy!” He turns back to his work, moving on to the next latte.

“I have scratches down my arm from him that prove otherwise.”

“That’s _your_ fault for trying to pick him up. You _know_ some cats don’t like to be picked up.”

“He lets _you_ pick him up and coddle him.”

“ _You_ are also small and angry and bite anyone who tries to pick you up except Matt.” He steps away from his work, nodding with satisfaction.

“It’s Red!” Hunk calls from the front. “He’s scaring the customers again. Lance, can you please come get him?”

“Told you so,” Pidge says with a smirk.

Lance just scowls at her as he picks up the lattes and steps out from around the counter. “He’s our good luck charm, Pidge.”

“No such thing, doofus!”

“Whatever, Pidge!” It’s a common argument, and he’s willing to let it go this time. No matter what everyone says, no matter how they feel about Red, Lance can’t deny that their luck has gotten better since he brought that aggressive little fur ball home. 

Sure, it’s usually just small things. Like Red playing with Lance’s keys when he nearly forgets them. Or Red knocking a glass over, which gets Lance to look up and notice that he left something in the oven. Or the weird way customers seem to behave themselves more when Red is around. Or how Lance seems to sleep better now that Red comes home with him. 

Small things. Nearly insignificant if not for the fact that Lance has noticed. His little good luck charm. 

He drops the lattes off at the right table and hurries through the rooms toward the front, stepping over cats and weaving around customers trying to get the attention of said cats. 

“‘Scuse me. Pardon me. Just gonna squeeze past ya. That one likes chin scratches, but avoid his tail, okay? Ma’am, please don’t pick up the cats; only employees are permitted to do that. Please keep your food covered when you’re not eating so the cats can’t get to it, thank you!”

When Hunk spots him, he visibly relaxes, wide smiled relieved. 

And Lance immediately spots the problem. One of the cats sits on the front desk. Tall and proud. Tail swishing behind him. Strange indigo eyes wide, pupils narrowed, unblinking as he stares down the couple trying to check in. Around his neck, the cat wears a dark red bandana. 

Like every cat at the Black Lion Cafe, Red’s fur is black. His, however, is the softest and silkiest Lance has ever had the pleasure to pet— even Hunk and Pidge agree with him on that count, not that Red lets them pet him much. His front feet are white, and he has this little white patch in the center of his chest. He’s not the largest cat, fairly small and slim, but he has the unnerving presence of a predator.

Lance will never admit aloud that Red is his favorite, but, well… the evidence speaks for itself. 

“Lance, oh thank god,” Hunk says as Lance hurries up to the front desk. “He’s doing the thing where he _stares_ again.”

“Cats stare, Hunk. Literally all of them.”

“Yeah, but there’s something about Red that’s just… unnerving,” he says quietly, leaning toward Lance and glancing sidelong at the cat, as if he might understand. 

Red, predictably, doesn’t look away from the two people across the desk that he’s staring down.

“Hey, guys, welcome to the Black Lion!” He says cheerfully, stepping around the desk to get in front of Red, a wide grin plastered across his face. “I hope this one hasn’t given you any trouble.”

“No, not at all,” the woman says, though he picks up on her nervous chuckle. “I’m sure he’s a sweet boy.” She reaches for Red, offering a hand to sniff and maybe some pets, but Red just grumbles low in his throat, a clear warning, and she pulls her hand back. 

Lance laughs lightly, easily scooping Red up into his arms. The cat goes easily and willingly. Settles right into Lance’s arms like he was made to be there. Even wiggles a little to get comfortable. 

His eyes, however, never leave the couple. 

Even when Lance lifts him up to snuggle him and he starts to purr. 

“He’s the sweetest, really,” Lance assures them, glaring at Hunk when the big guy rolls his eyes. “He is!”

“Lance, he was just scaring customers again. _Again_ , dude.”

“He didn’t mean anything by it,” Lance insists, scratching under Red’s chin. He continues to purr, eyes going lidded, pupils blowing wide, even if he doesn’t stop staring. “Isn’t that right, baby boy?” He turns back to the couple, offering an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind him. Red here is just really protective of this place. He likes to think of himself as a little guardian, watching out for the other cats and employees.”

“He’s also spoiled rotten,” Hunk mumbles, and Lance playfully swats at him as he walks past the desk. 

“I’ll just take him now. Please enjoy your stay!” He carries Red out of the room, and the cat perches his paws on Lance’s shoulder to stare at the new customers until they turn a corner. 

Then, giving up, turns to nuzzle into Lance’s neck, rubbing under his chin, still purring like a motorboat. Seriously, he purrs louder than any cat Lance has ever known. And there are _dozens_ of cats in this cafe alone.

Lance chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re just trying to watch out for everyone.” He hooks his hands at Red’s sides, holding him out at arms length, in the air above him. Red doesn’t protest. Just continues to purr, watching Lance with half lidded eyes. “But we don’t need you scaring away all our customers.”

He brings Red in, nuzzling the cat’s face and grinning as Red rubs back, scenting his nose and cheeks. 

“Now why can’t you be this sweet with everyone, huh? It would make things so much easier.” 

But despite the sentiment, he knows that he likes how things are. He _likes_ that he’s the only one Red is this affectionate towards. Sure, he tolerates others, but he doesn’t let anyone else love on him like this. Doesn’t give out his own affection so easily. It makes Lance feel special. 

He shifts Red onto his shoulder, and Red perches there with ease, claws digging firmly but gently into Lance’s shirt. “Come on, bud. Let’s go bug Pidge. You can glare at her all you want.”

* * *

“Lance, I’m leaving!” Hunk calls as he heads through the front door. “Lock it after me?”

“On it.” Lance follows after him, pausing in the space between the two doors to give Hunk a quick hug. “Say hi to Shay for me.”

“I will. You still coming over for dinner this weekend?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, buddy.”

“Cool. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Lance sighs, leaning heavily against the open door. “ _Huuuunk.”_

“I know, I know, but I really think you’ll like this one! Her name’s Romelle, and she just moved in next door. She’s really nice, very pretty, single—“

“Hunk, I can find dates on my own.” Hunk just stares, lifting one brow, giving Lance a _very_ pointed look. One that has him scowling, straightening with indignation. “I _can!”_

“Lance, you haven’t gone on a single date in half a year.”

“Well I _could_ if I wanted to, which I don’t. So…”

“Dude, you _love_ dates. You love meeting people. You love _love_ , man. In college, you were always asking people out and throwing your heart around. Breaking a few hearts, too. What happened to lover boy Lance?”

Lance sighs, running his fingers through his hair, scratching the back of his neck as he looks away. “He retired. I’m just… not into it as much anymore. I don’t want _dates_ , man. I want… to _be with_ someone, ya know?”

“Yeah, well, you kinda have to go through the dating first.”

“Ugh, I _know.”_

“I just want you to be happy, man.”

He smiles, soft and tired but genuine. “I know, buddy. And I _am_ happy. I _like_ my life right now. I know you’re worried, but believe it or not, I’m not lonely. I have you guys, and the cafe, and Red.”

Hunk lets out a long, dramatic sigh, shaking his head as he moves out onto the sidewalk. “Man, I can’t believe you turned into a crazy cat guy.”

Lance just chuckles. “Hey, someone had to do it. Might as well be me.”

“Night, dude.”

“Night, buddy.”

He watches Hunk walk to his car and get in before closing the door and locking it, moving back into the main room.

“Alright, everyone, night time!” Lance calls out through the cafe, double checking the locks on the doors, pulling the curtains closed, and flipping off the lights as he makes his final sweep. He checks to make sure all the cats are out of the room with the bar top (they don’t need them crawling all over the machines and knocking over the jars of tea in the middle of the night) before closing the door. 

Standing with his hands on his hips, he walks through the rest of the rooms, poking his head in the back area, making sure everyone is accounted for.

“Yellow. Green. Blue, my wonderful, beautiful, fluffy baby,” He calls off their names aloud, pausing to give Blue some love before moving on. She was his first rescue, and the catalyst to this whole operation. 

See, two years ago, Lance found some punk kids throwing rocks at a fluffy black cat on Halloween. He chased them away, scooped her up, and took her to the vet. After finding out that due to superstitions, black cats have a higher likelihood of being abandoned or harmed— and after having the sweetest little fluff ball curl up on his lap the entire drive home— Lance got an idea.

A _crazy_ idea. 

A crazy idea that he couldn’t fucking shake. 

Because he was getting into his late twenties, had absolutely _no idea_ where his life was going, felt lost and purposeless, and he and Hunk had been tossing around the idea of opening a cafe _anyway_. Kind of as a joke. But this… this wasn’t a joke. Lance was _stuck_ on this idea. 

So he got his best friends on board. They stayed up into the early hours of the morning, hyped up on caffeine and _planning_. Researching. Running the numbers. Putting together proposals. Finding available spaces. 

Then the Black Lion Cafe was born. 

A cozy little cat cafe nestled in the heart of downtown. 

The theme? _Black cats_. A whole goddamn herd of them. They rescue them from shelters and off the streets. Take ‘em to the vet and set them up for possible adoption. Their own little shelter for cats that no one wants. A loving home.

And the best part? The theme doesn’t stop there. Oh no. They _leaned into_ that shit. 

All of the employees dress as witches (with a lot of creative freedom for their own interpretations). The decor is homey, but leans toward black. Halloween-y without feeling too campy. Though, he’ll face it, it’s basically Halloween year round in here.

Even their teas and coffee brews have themed names, set on display in glass jars with aesthetic labels to match. All of those are created specifically by their friend Allura, who is pretty much the sole reason this enterprise got off the ground. She covered most of their deposit and financial backing, and has been endlessly supportive and enthusiastic about the whole idea. 

The only catch is that the only drinks they sell have to be her own line: Altea Brews. Specially made tea and coffee blends. She’s even recently come up with a soft drink line. 

He doesn’t know how she does it, but they get shipments weekly, and he’ll admit, her stuff is _good_. He’s never really believed in the benefits of tea before, but when she puts a label on something, it sure as hell lives up to it. 

Her sleepy time tea? It’ll put you out quick.

Her focus blend? He’s _never_ been able to focus like that. 

Don’t even get him _started_ on the mellow blend because that shit is better than weed. 

He’s sure they also owe a lot of their success to Allura’s creations, as potent and addicting as they are. Almost like magic, which is undeniably fitting for a witch themed cat cafe. 

“Violet, I see you over there. Be nice to Amber. Perri. Blood Orange. Magenta. Chartreuse. Stripe and Spot? There you are. Be good.”

That’s another thing. All the cats have a different colored collar or bandana to tell them apart. And most of them are named after that color or pattern. Just keeps things easy when they have dozens of black cats sprinting around the cafe. 

When everyone is accounted for, he heads to the employees only door that leads to the back hallway. Red is already there. Sitting patiently. Tail idly flicking. Waiting for him, as he does every night. 

“Hey, bud, ready to go home?” He’s rewarded with a soft little _mrrp_ and smiles as he opens the door. Red trots through ahead of him, tail held high as he heads straight for the door that leads to the stairs. 

He patiently waits there while Lance does a final run through of the back rooms before setting the alarm. 

Red stands aside for him to open the door, then sprints up the stairs ahead of him, once again waiting at the top landing, in front of the next door. 

His apartment door. Because there was an apartment above the property they bought for the cafe, and Lance insisted on moving in. The cats might not live with him specifically, but he doesn’t want to leave them wholly alone. At least this way he can be here in case of an emergency. 

As he unlocks his door, Red stands with his nose practically pressed to the crack, slipping inside before it’s even fully open. Lance sighs, but he knows he’s smiling. “No one’s here, bud.” 

He steps inside, closing the door and locking it. As he kicks off his shoes, he watches in amusement as Red sprints around his apartment, peering into all the rooms. Tail flicking. Eyes darting to every available space. Never stopping until he’s viewed the entire apartment.

He’ll admit, it’s odd behavior, and it was super weird when he first started bringing Red up here. 

But he’s pretty sure he’s figured it out. With how protective Red’s nature is— combined with how attached to Lance he is— it kind of makes sense that he wants to scope out the apartment for intruders that might harm him. 

It’s not normal behavior. He wasn’t aware a cat even had the mental capacity to consider looking for intruders, let alone quickly scope out every single room without getting distracted. 

But… it’s endearing. Just one of the many quirks that makes Red so unique. 

When he’s done with his inspection, he trots back to Lance, rubbing against his legs as he softly meows. “Is the coast all clear? Am I free to move about the apartment?”

Another meow, louder this time, almost proud, which Lance takes as a yes. 

He walks to the living room, collapsing onto the couch and half burying his face in the cushions. His following sigh trails off into a low groan as exhaustion from the day starts to sink in. He loves his job. He really does. It’s a dream come true. But it’s still a _job_ , and therefore exhausting. 

It’s only seconds later that the familiar weight lands on the couch next to him, walking over him on light feet to his back. For a cat so small, Red is super dense. A lot heavier than one would expect when he’s so slim. 

Red settles in, sitting right at Lance’s lower back, in the dip of his spine. Then his paws are pressing into Lance’s back, kneading them with only the barest hint of claws. His purr is a deep, soothing rumble. 

Lance smiles, eyes falling shut as he hums contently.

He’s tried to tell Hunk and Pidge just how cuddly and affectionate Red is, but they never believe him. Sure, he’s attached to Lance in the cafe, but it’s nothing compared to the pure clinginess he exudes when they’re alone in his apartment. It’s adorable, really. The big, bad grumpy cat, famous in the Black Lion for not wanting to be approached or touched, but in actuality is pretty touched starved. He’s just very particular about who he shows affection and who he’ll receive it from. 

He’s not sure how long Red kneads at his back. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift off. But when the weight leaves his back and a loud meow starts up from the kitchen, it’s an hour later. 

“Right,” he says with a sigh, prying himself off the couch and stretching until his back pops. “Food. You need food.” Another loud meow, sharper this time. Lance chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, me too. Don’t worry.”

Another quirk of Red’s: he won’t eat unless Lance is eating with him. He doesn’t think much of it. There are plenty of cases of animals being social eaters. But sometimes he can’t help but think that Red just wants to make sure he doesn’t skip meals, which he will when his exhaustion outweighs the energy it takes to make food.

Red hops up onto the counter as Lance steps into the kitchen, stopping to scratch behind his ears for a moment before going to the fridge. 

“How’s left over chicken sound?”

_Mrrp._

“Yeah, sounds good.”

* * *

“Are you sure?” Lance follows Romelle out of his bedroom, fingernails nervously picking at his cuticles where his hands hang at his sides. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Red trotting out of the room behind him. 

She stops at the entry way, resting a hand on the wall before glancing over her shoulder, offering him a small, apologetic smile. “I think it’s probably for the best.”

It’s said kindly. Not angry. No offense meant. But it feels like a blow to the chest all the same. 

She looks away, bending down to pick up her shoes and slip them on, and Lance sighs, running his fingers through his hair. 

It _hurts_ , but… he can’t say he’s surprised. It’s not the first time something like this has happened, but at least it doesn’t sting like it used to. In fact… once the initial blow fades, he’s left frozen, waiting for the familiar sharp sting of rejection to sink in… only to feel nothing at all.

It’s… strange. But kind of relieving? 

“Sorry about Red,” he says to fill the silence. “He’s not usually like this.” He is. One hundred percent. But she doesn’t have to know that. 

However, the look she gives him over her shoulder tells him that she already does. But thankfully, she smiles. “I think we both know that he is.” She stands, straightening out her clothes and brushing back her hair as she turns to face him. “Hunk warned me about him.”

“Oh, no…” Lance groans. 

Romelle chuckles. “Nothing too bad, I promise. He just said he’s a needy cat and to not be surprised if he tries to beg for your attention.”

Lance laughs, a little fond and a little strained, as he looks back to where Red has perched on the back of the couch. Watching them with unblinking indigo eyes. Tail flicking behind him. 

For someone who was practically _howling_ outside Lance’s bedroom door ten minutes ago, he’s perfectly silent now. 

Little bastard. 

“Yeah, well… he’s my baby boy,” Lance says, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s a little spoiled, but he’s a good cat.”

“I know,” she says, and it sounds like she really means it. “This isn’t about him, I swear.” She steps forward, putting her hands on Lance’s shoulders as his hand drops back to his side. “Yes, he kind of interrupted us, but I think we both know this wasn’t really going anywhere, right?”

He sighs, posture slumping. He _should_ feel disappointed. Instead, he oddly just feels relief. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“You’re a good guy, Lance. And I like hanging out with you. But I just don’t think _this_ is going to work out. There just isn’t…” She waves a hand around, expression pinching. 

“There’s no spark,” he finishes for her. 

She snaps her fingers. “ _Exactly_. There’s no _spark_. Still friends, though, yeah?”

He grins. “Yeah. Still friends.”

She leans forward and kisses his cheek, light and fleeting. Behind him, he hears Red’s soft growl, a displeased grumble, but he ignores it, giving Romelle a tight hug. 

He walks her down the stairs and to the back door, making sure she gets to her car before returning to his apartment. 

Red is right where he left him, on the back of the couch, and chirps the moment Lance is through the door. Already begging for attention. 

Lance sighs, but there’s a smile on his lips as he moves to the couch, running his hand down Red’s back. “You’re so needy, you know that? Spoiled rotten.” He doesn’t seem at all perturbed. In fact, he looks down right _smug_ as he leans into Lance’s touch. “A little bastard, that’s what you are.” 

He scoops Red into his arms, smiling as he immediately starts rubbing against Lance’s neck, against the underside of his jaw and chin. He walks back to his bedroom, collapsing against the pillows, sprawled out, one leg dangling off the edge. Red curls up on his chest, purring loudly, eyes half lidded, paws clenching and relaxing in small, half assed kneading motions. 

Lance sighs, and Red gives a little questioning _mrrp._

“It was a long shot anyway. I didn’t really like her _like that_ , but Hunk insisted, and he’s got the most effective puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen.” He idly scratches behind Red’s ears, other hand propped behind his head. “Worth a shot, I guess.”

Red gives another little sound. One that Lance decides to take as consoling. 

“It’s okay, baby boy. I’m fine with it just being you and me.”

His dating life hasn’t been spectacular in the past couple years. He’s been so busy with the cafe, and it seems like everyone he meets just isn’t… _right_. Not that there’s anything _wrong_ with them, but there’s just no _spark_. And Lance isn’t the lover boy he used to be. He doesn’t want to be with someone just to have someone. He wants something _special._ He wants a real connection. 

He’s past the point of settling. 

And he meant what he told Hunk the other day. He’s not lonely. He has good friends. Good family. A job he loves. More cats than he can count. And he has Red. His baby boy and constant companion. Red takes care of him, in his own way. Comforts him. Keeps him company. Makes him laugh. 

And _yeah_ , okay, he’ll admit Red isn’t great for dating. 

In fact, he’s been a constant bane to Lance’s already struggling dating life. Ever since he took Red in, got a little too attached, and adopted him as his own cat and not just a cafe cat, Red has been wreaking havoc on his love life. 

He does _not_ like it when Lance brings dates home. He hates it when people get too touchy with him, be it hand holding, hugs, or— god forbid— a kiss or two. He constantly tries to get between Lance and his dates. Glares at them with that strangely unnerving stare— even for a cat— until his dates are way too uncomfortable. 

He’s had people leave because “your cat is super creepy, dude.”

Not to mention, if he closes the bedroom door to get some cat-free privacy to make-out and maybe get a little lucky— like he had done with Romelle— Red howls and howls and _howls_ until the moment is ruined. 

And if his dates don’t leave like Romelle did. If they stay. Red gets _super_ grumpy. He pouts. Straight up ignoring Lance for days, even if he stays in the same room just to let Lance _know_ that he’s ignoring him. 

So Lance has just, sort of… _stopped_ dating in the past few months. He’s happy enough without a partner, and it just didn’t seem like it was worth the hassle to half heartedly try with people he felt no spark with. 

Besides, he doesn’t want to be with anyone who hates his cat.

Hunk worries, but that’s okay. Lance is okay. Sure, it’d be great to have a partner to curl up with, to hold and be held, but… he’s happy enough for now. 

“Guess it’s just you and me again,” he says, closing his eyes. Red’s responding meow sounds content. “Just you and me against the world, Red.” Lance feels himself smile. “I like the sound of that.”

Red must, too, as he shuffles closer. Stretches out his paws and curling them into Lance’s shoulders to drag himself up Lance’s chest to nuzzle under his chin. 

Lance chuckles. “You’re always watching out for me, aren’t you, baby boy? My little guardian. Making sure I eat. Making sure I’m safe. Keeping me company. Cuddling with me.” He sighs, something inside his chest aching. “If you were human, I bet you’d be the best boyfriend.”

He pauses, and Red freezes. But once Lance resumes his pets, Red starts to relax. 

“Is that weird?” He asks with a startled laugh. “Yeah, that’s totally weird. I’m saying that I’d date my fucking _cat_ if he were a man. Oh my god.” He drapes an arm over his eyes with a low groan. “I’ve really sunken low, haven’t I?”

Red just nuzzles him. As gentle and patient as ever. Comforting and warm and a steady presence. 

He smiles. “Nah, you’re right. It’s not my fault you exhibit all the qualities that’d be great to have a in a boyfriend. As weird as that is to say.”

Okay, so _maybe_ he’s a _little_ lonely. But… he’s fine. He’s happy enough. At least for now.

“One day…” He mumbles. “One day…”

* * *

That night Lance dreams of being held by a handsome man with long, silky black hair that curled over pale skin, a smile that radiated warmth, and the most beautiful indigo eyes he’s ever seen.

* * *

“I can’t believe you let your niece handle him like that,” Hunk mutters, eyeing Nadia as she carries Red across the room, arms wrapped around his chest and legs dangling as she walks. Despite the awkward positioning, he looks as content as can be. 

“Red loves Nadia,” Lance says dismissively, scrolling through the inventory list on the cafe’s iPad, double checking the supply order before he sends it. 

“Yeah, but… he’s like… the most impatient and volatile cat we have— No, Lance, you _know_ it’s true,” Hunk says, cutting Lance off as he opens his mouth. “Just because he’s attached to your hip doesn’t mean he isn’t temperamental with everyone else.”

Lance snaps his mouth shut, huffing out a short scoff as he looks back to the tablet. “Okay, fair, but he used to be a playground cat, and he knew Nadia before he even knew me. Of course I trust him with her.”

She had actually been the one to introduce him to Red to begin with. He had gone to pick her up from school one day when his brother was busy, and she had dragged him out to the woods that bordered her elementary school. 

There, he met Red. A dirty, mangy, wary black cat who lived in the woods and watched over the kids. Nadia told him stories about how he would play with them, always gentle. He would break up fights and stop bullies. One time he even stopped a man from kidnapping one of the kids when he was walking home after school. 

Red was somewhat of a legend and a hero to the kids, but they worried about him. Especially with the upcoming winter. 

So Nadia, being the bright young girl she is, begged her uncle who rescues black cats to rescue this one. 

It wasn’t easy. Red was wary around him, and Lance didn’t want to force it. He wanted to build trust. It was important for the cats who lived in his cafe. 

It took _weeks_ of constantly going back. Sitting around and minding his own business until Red got used to him. Then slowly letting Lance pet him. Half the time it felt like two steps forward and one step back. Red was stubborn and wary and only seemed to like the kids. 

But by the time winter came, he was curling up on Lance’s lap as he wrapped them both in a warm blanket. 

And the rest is history.

“One of these days I’m going to figure out your secret,” Hunk mumbles, still watching as Nadia sits on a couch. Red settles in her lap, purring and tolerating all the ways she pets him. 

“There’s no secret, Hunk.” Lance pats him on the shoulder. “Besides, Red _does_ like you. Just not as much as he likes me.”

“I dunno about that…”

“Just because he doesn’t crawl all over you doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you. You should know that by now. These are _cats_ we’re dealing with. How many times has Red just sat near you and ignored you?”

“Uh… a lot?”

“ _Exactly_. He likes you.”

“Sure, I guess… Speaking of liking people…”

Lance groans, already walking away. “Hunk, please—“

“Can you at least tell me why you and Romelle didn’t work out? Was it Red again? Did he scare her away?”

“It had _nothing_ to do with Red,” Lance says, agitation creeping into his voice. He sighs, turning to give Hunk a flat look. “There just wasn’t any _spark_ , okay? She’s cool, but like… I just don’t feel a connection like _that,_ you know? She called it first, but truthfully? I don’t think I would’ve asked for a second date anyway.”

Hunk sighs, shoulders slumping, looking genuinely distraught. “I’m sorry, dude. I thought for sure there’d be something there…”

“Not your fault, buddy.” He pats Hunk’s shoulder, pulling him into a tight side hug. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I’m happy right now, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Come on, don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll find someone someday. And it’s going to be the _right_ person.”

“You deserve the best, Lance. I mean it.”

“Thanks, buddy. Mister or misses Black Lion is out there. I know they are.”

Hunk chuckles. “Man, good luck finding someone willing to put up with all of this. Especially Red.”

“Hey, Red is a _good boy_ , okay?”

“Whatever you say, buddy.”

“He knows I deserve only the best of the best.”

“I think he just wants you all to himself.”

“Maybe he does,” Lance muses. “But I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.”

* * *

He’s in the back room, heaving twenty pound bags of cat food and cartons of canned food onto shelves when Pidge pokes her head in. “Hey, Lance, Allura’s here!”

“Allura— ow, _fuck!_ ” He stumbles back as several cans fall free of the carton and clatter around his feet. He sets the thing down carefully before turning to Pidge. “Allura’s here?”

“Yeah, doofus, come say hi.”

He follows her back out into the main rooms of the cafe, and they find Allura in one of the back ones, sitting on a couch, practically _surrounded_ by cats. It would be startling if they weren’t already used to it. Cats seem to _love_ Allura, and she greets each of them by name, despite the fact that she hasn’t been here in a year (she keeps up to date on the color coded names Pidge uploads to the website and Lance often gushes about them all). 

“‘Llura!” 

She looks up, grin bright and blinding. “Lance! There you are.” She stands, gently setting a few cats aside as she comes to give him a hug. He wraps her up tight, hooking his chin over her shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut, breathing her in. 

He and Allura may not have really worked out as romantic partners, but she’s still one of his best friends and the best business partner he could ask for. 

“How’ve you been?” He pulls away, holding her by the upper arms at arms’ length. “You’re back early! You weren’t supposed to come by until tomorrow.”

“I wanted to surprise you all,” she says with a grin. She takes Lance’s hands, taking a step back to let her gaze sweep around the cafe. “This place looks even better than the last time I was here.”

“Well, you haven’t been here in person in nearly a year.”

Despite being their financial backer and supplier of the cafe’s drinks, Allura doesn’t really have a hand in the cafe itself. She’s a business woman with her hands in a lot of projects, and she made it clear from the beginning that this one was Lance’s baby. She was just the support. 

She’s been living abroad for the past year, and though they’ve kept in constant contact, he hasn’t seen her in so long. 

It’s good to have her back.

“You’ve done a good job with it, Lance.”

His smile turns bashful, heat creeping at the back of his neck. He drops her hands to try to rub it away. “Yeah, well… it’s not just me. Pidge and Hunk do a lot, too. It’s a team effort.”

“Come on,” she says, grabbing hold of his arm and hooking hers with it. “Show me around.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, turning to lead her toward the main room. “We’ll start with the front and work our way back— Allura?” He’s jerked to a stop as Allura freezes, her arm still hooked with his. 

He turns to look, one eyebrow raised, only to find her starting over his shoulder. Following her gaze, he spots Red perched up on one of the cat walkways that runs along the top of the walls. 

He looks frozen as well. Mid-step. Not even his tail moves as he stares at Allura, eyes wide and unblinking. 

But it’s not his usual stare down. He looks almost… startled? 

“Oh!” He detaches himself from Allura’s arm. Not that she’s holding on tight right now. Her arms sort of go slack at her sides, which is… weird. “You haven’t met Red yet.” He steps over to the wall, holding up his hands. “Come ‘ere, baby boy,” he coos, and the sound of his voice snaps Red’s attention to him. 

He jumps easily into Lance’s waiting arms, turning back to stare at Allura. But he’s… leaning heavily into Lance’s chest. Away from her. He doesn’t purr or nuzzle. It’s a type of wariness that Lance has never seen from him. 

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, running his fingers soothingly through Red’s fur. “She’s a friend.” 

“So this is the infamous Red…” Allura says softly, and he can’t quite read her tone. Amused? Surprised? Wary? 

“Yup!” He says, hoping some cheerfulness will help cut the weird tension. “Red’s my cat, but he hangs out in the cafe with everyone else.”

He doesn’t know why he says it. Staking claim on Red. He’s _never_ called Red _his_ cat, though he and everyone else thinks it. But the way Allura is looking at him… he just… wants to make sure she understands that Red isn’t going anywhere. 

She holds out her hands, offering a small smile. “May I?”

“I guess…” He shifts Red in his arms, expecting him to protest as Lance prepares to hand him over. Strangely enough, he doesn’t. “But be careful, he’s a little temperamental and not a big fan of people. Especially strangers.”

She chuckles, light and amused. “I think I’ll be fine.”

And the weird thing? She _is_ fine. 

She finds a spot on an empty couch in a corner to sit with Red while Lance goes back to work. And Red just… sits with her. He’s _never_ done that with _anyone_. Not like that. He doesn’t sit on anyone’s lap besides Lance’s, Lance’s family, and sometimes, begrudgingly, Pidge and Hunk. 

And now, apparently, Allura. 

He goes back to the storage room to finish stocking the shelves, and when he comes out, they’re still just… sitting there. 

Red sits on Allura’s lap, allowing her to pet him, and she’s just… talking to him? He can’t hear what she’s saying, but he can see her lips moving. And every once in a while, he sees Red’s tail flick or hear him meow. Different types of meows. All different tones. And Lance has had Red around and talked to him enough to know his meows. 

It’s… weird. 

It’s weird, and Lance doesn’t like it.

And the worst part is he _knows_ why it’s weird, and he’s ashamed to admit it. He doesn’t like that Red is so friendly with Allura when it used to be just _him_. Like… he’s not as special as he thought?

It’s stupid. He’s being stupid. He should be _thrilled_ that his temperamental, anti-social cat is actually playing nice, but…

No, it’s stupid. 

“Here’s your usual,” he says, setting a steaming mug of tea on the table in front of her. 

“Oh,” she says, looking, blinking away this distant look in her eyes before smiling. “Thank you, Lance.”

He leans back, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying to be the picturesque image of calm, cool, and collected, and totally _not_ fidget. “Sooo… I see you two are getting along.”

“Oh, very much.” She reaches for her tea, taking a gentle sip. That water was scalding, and yet she never seems to burn herself. “You have quite a special cat here, Lance.” She says it all soft and genuine, a twinkling of _something_ in her eye. 

“Yeah.” He agrees wholeheartedly, so why does he feel so weird about it? When he laughs, it even sounds nervous. “Yeah, I do. And you seem to have tamed the beast. I don’t have to worry about you taking him away from me, do I?”

It’s a joke, but his chest tightens all the same. 

At Allura’s laugh, however, he feels himself relaxing. “Oh dear, _no_. I wouldn’t dream of it. Not that I think I ever could. He’s quite taken with you.”

Lance’s brows furrow, another strained laugh on his lips. “Yeah, yeah, he is, but… how do you know that?”

“I just have a feeling.” There’s that twinkle in her eyes again. It makes him feel like she knows so much more than he does. Like there’s some kinda hidden joke he’s not in on. “Keith is quite chatty.”

Lance blinks. “Keith?”

“Oh, right. You call him Red. _Red_ is quite chatty.”

“Why… did you just call my cat Keith?” His lip curls back, nose crinkling as he makes a face. “Why would you name _any_ cat _Keith?_ ” Red makes a disgruntled noise, and Lance glances down to see him glaring. _Weird_. “What? Red is a much better name.”

“He’s a _black_ cat, Lance.”

“So?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Well, we’ll just call him Red for now then.” She stands, taking her tea in hand. 

Lance stares, mouth hanging open, as Red climbs up onto Allura’s shoulder, perching there like he’s done it a million times. Which he has. But only to _Lance_. 

“I have some things to do before I leave. I want to make something for Red. It _should_ help him.” She pauses, a distant look in her eyes, lips pursing into a small frown as she whispers a soft. “I hope it will, anyway.”

“What? Is he sick?” Lance steps forward, reaching out to Red, feeling a little wave of relief as Red leans out to nuzzle his hand. “The vet’s always said he’s in peak health.”

“Not physically, no, he isn’t sick. But… I still would like to make him a little something. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation. “You know I do.”

“Then I’ll make him a special brew.” She walks away, headed for the kitchen with Red still perched on her shoulder. 

“What? Like a tea?” He asks after her, but she doesn’t turn around. Then another thing sinks in, and he finds himself frowning. “And what’d you mean we’ll call him Red _for now?_ We’re not calling my cat _Keith!_ Allura, stop _laughing_ , I’m serious!”

* * *

Lance sits on the bathroom floor, one elbow resting on the edge of the bathtub as he re-reads the instructions Allura had given him. His other hand dangles over the edge, fingers trailing in the lukewarm water. 

“I can’t believe Allura is making me give my cat a _tea bath_ ,” he mumbles, chuckling softly when Red steps over his arm, getting under his chin to rub up against his jaw. “Does she think you smell bad or something?” 

To emphasize his point, and maybe to nuzzle Red a bit, he dips his face down and buries it in soft black fur. He deals with a lot of cats daily, but none of them smell as good as Red. Not that Red smells _good_ , exactly, he just… doesn’t smell bad. It’s a very particular smell that Lance specifically associates with him. The same way people have smells. 

Red gives a soft meow, and Lance lifts his head, hooking his chin over Red’s back as the cat leans against his chest. He lifts the little paper higher, re-reading it _again_.

The instructions aren’t terribly complicated, but Allura had been _very_ insistent that he follow them to the letter. She gave him three little bundles of herbs and five bottles of powder. They all had to be put in the water at specific times, soak for specific times, all while he had to draw specific patterns in the water with this weird wand Allura gave him. 

And really, he has no idea what to call it other than a wand. 

It’s about eight inches in length, made from polished petrified wood, with all these runes carved into it. 

When Allura first gave him the whole bundle and explained the process, he had laughed. Because _really?_ This had to be a joke. He knows they run a witch themed cat cafe and walk around with pointed hats on their heads, and he’s often called a witch with Red as his familiar, and _yeah_ , their drinks taste like magic, but _this_ is kind of taking the whole _magic thing_ a little far. 

But when she had looked at him, expression set in stone, unyielding and unfathomable serious, with a tone etched from ice and eyes that looked old and timeless… when she had told him that it was no joke, and Red _needed_ him to follow her instructions _exactly…_

Well… he’s never seen her look like that, and it was kinda creepy, if he’s being honest… And you know what they say: curiosity killed the cat—

Oh god, he hopes this doesn’t kill his cat. 

“If this hurts you, I’m gonna kill Allura,” he grumbles, earning him another soft meow as Red nuzzles his cheek. “She _says_ it’s important, and it was kinda scary how serious she was, but… I dunno. Feels like a bath bomb and tea bath combined. I mean, I have to basically _season you_ with this powder stuff. I wouldn’t blame you if you ran away right now.”

But Red doesn’t. Despite the fact that the door is open. Despite the fact that he’s always hated baths in the past. Despite standing on the lip of a bathtub that’s filling with water, he stays. In fact, he seems almost _eager._

“This is so _weird_ ,” he emphasizes for what feels like the hundredth time. 

He can’t explain it, but… as weird as this all is, it feels _important_. And that’s probably Allura’s influence— she’s never steered him wrong before, and her stuff _is_ almost magically effective. 

“Whatever. As long as it doesn’t hurt you, it should be fine, right?” A soft meow. “Right. If all else fails, you’ll probably come out smelling good, have a shiny coat, and I’ll have gotten you to take a bath, which is worth it in my book.” 

He leans back, cutting off the tab and reaching for the first bundle of herbs. In the other hand, he holds the wand thing. With Red watching him, sitting patiently on the edge of the bathtub, tail flicking behind him, Lance takes a deep breath, letting it out in a tired sigh. “Right, let’s do this.”

He drops the first bundle in, then dips in the wand, swirling around the bundle in wide, clockwise motions. “I know I own a witch cat cafe, but this is ridiculous,” he mumbles. “Hey, Siri? Set a timer for five minutes.”

* * *

An hour and a half later, he’s lying in bed, snuggled under the covers in just his boxers, with a very fluffy cat curled up on his chest. 

“I dunno if that did anything,” he mumbles, slipping his fingers through Red’s fur. “But you’re so fucking soft right now, so I’ll take it.”

Red makes a soft rumbling sound. Eyes closed, he purrs up a storm as he dozes on Lance’s chest. Just like he does every night. With his tendency to sleep on his back, Red quickly made Lance’s chest his favorite sleeping spot. Not that Lance minds. He used to have a lot of trouble sleeping. Needed an eye mask and ambient sounds. Even then, it took hours for his mind to settle down enough to sleep. Ever since Red came home with him, though, sleeping has never been an issue. 

“I don’t think it did anything else. Can’t tell anyway,” he says as he looks Red over, fingers running down his spine. “But Allura did say that the results would take a couple of hours to take effect. She said it would be really obvious, but I dunno.” He pauses, brow furrowing. “I hope she didn’t just get me to dye your fur or something.” He gasps. “Or what if all your hair falls out?!”

Red makes a soft disgruntled sound as he’s jostled, and Lance settles back down. 

He sighs. “Guess we’ll just find out in the morning, won’t we?” _Mrrp_. He closes his eyes, resting a hand on Red’s back. Feels the warmth settling into his chest. Content with the familiar weight. “Night, baby boy.”

* * *

As Lance is pulled to consciousness, the first thing he becomes aware of is hair tickling his nose. Which, in and of itself, isn’t an uncommon occurrence. He’s woken up with Red’s fur in his face more times than he can count.

He scrunches up his face, turning away as he lifts a lazy hand to swipe half heartedly at the spot until the sensation goes away. 

Sighing contently, he gives back in to the temping pull of sleep. His alarm isn’t going off, which means he still has time. Probably not a lot, but he doesn’t care. He’s warm and content. His bed is comfortable, body sinking into the mattress with the weight on his chest. Soft, silky hair spilling out across his chest. Puffs of warm breath caressing his collarbones. Legs tangled with his—

Wait a minute. 

Lance’s eyes snap open. He stares at his ceiling as he freezes, breaths coming shallow, both from his mounting panic and the very heavy, very _human_ , and very _naked_ body lying on top of him. 

He can feel the bare chest pushed against his. The rise and fall of slow, heavy breaths. The very _real_ and very _startling_ weight between his legs. 

“Ooooh my god…” Lance breathes, voice barely more than a wheezing whisper. “Hoooly shit. Holy fucking _shit.”_

The man on him shifts. Lips smacking softly. Arms flexing and pulling closer to Lance’s body. Head shifting, and turning his face— no, _nuzzling_. This man is straight up _nuzzling_ into Lance’s chest. All sleepy and content in a way that would be cute as hell if he wasn’t _a total fucking stranger._

“Heeeey,” Lance says, trying to keep his voice even, gently pushing at the broad strong shoulders— holy fuck? “Heeeey, man. Wake up. Dude?”

The man shifts again, groggy as he’s pulled from sleep. He lifts his head, hair messy, a little bit of drool on his cheek, eyes lidded as he smiles at Lance—

And Lance _shoves_ as hard as he can, pushing the man off of him and to the side before throwing himself off the opposite side of the bed. 

A loud _thump_ hits the floor, followed by a groaned and startled, “Ow, _fuck_ ,” said in a deep, gravely voice, thick with sleep and hedged with indignation. 

Lance hits the ground and is immediately on his feet, sprinting across the room in nothing but his underwear. He’s in the bathroom in seconds, door slamming and locking behind him. Then his back hits it, and he leans against it, breathing hard, heart hammering in his throat. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Holy fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck.”_

He left his phone in the room in his blind panic. He’s so _fucked_. What’s he supposed to do? He’s naked in his bathroom, with no way out. Someone broke into his apartment, got naked, and _crawled_ into bed with him. Oh god, was he drugged? How did he not _notice_. What about—

He gasps, loud and ragged. His heart squeezes tight, pain radiating through his chest. 

What about _Red?_

There’s a soft knock at the door, and Lance freezes. 

“Lance?”

Oh god, the intruder knows his _name?_ Is this a stalker? Did he forget to lock the door last night? He’s so fucked. He’s so utterly and completely—

“Lance, are you okay?”

“Who are you?!” He wasn’t expecting his voice to be that high and squeaky, but whatever, he’s panicking right now, okay? “Who are you and what’d you want?”

“Lance—“

“And what did you do with Red?! I swear to god, if you hurt my cat—“

“Lance, it’s _me.”_

“Me? Who’s me? I don’t know any _me_.” He laughs, high and hysterical. Oh god, he’s hysterical. He’s fine. He’s _fine_. He just has to stay in here, maybe stall the guy long enough, and then when work hours start up, Hunk will notice he’s missing and coming looking—

“It’s Red.”

“Red? He’s out there? You better not touch my baby boy, I swear to _god—“_

“No, it’s _me.”_

“Who’s _me?”_

“ _Red.”_

“What about my cat—“

“ _Lance_.” There’s a long groan, tired and frustrated and downright exasperated. Which Lance doesn’t think he has any right to be, given the circumstances. 

“Listen, buddy, I don’t know who you are, but—“

“Keith.”

“What?” Wait, wasn’t Keith the name Allura used…?

“My name is Keith, but… you call me Red.”

“What the fuck…” He whispers, and then louder, “ _What_ the _fuck.”_

“Just… open the door? Please?” 

And ooooh boy. How _dare_ he sound so goddamn _pitiful._ So soft and _sad_. Like Lance is taking away every ounce of happiness from this _stranger_ who is claiming to be his _cat?_

But fuck if it doesn’t pull on his heartstrings all the same. 

So he purses his lips and exhales through his nose, pushing off the door and moving forward to dig through his bathroom cabinets.

“Okay,” he says, facing the door once more. “Step back from the door. I’m going to open it, and I have mace, so don’t try anything.” It’s hairspray, but whatever. 

He straightens up, pulling back his shoulders and lifting his chin, trying to look as imposing as he possibly can, ignoring the way his hand shakes as he reaches for the door. 

And when he opens it— he drops the hairspray can.

Because standing there is the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. Now that he’s getting a good look, he’s shell shocked. He’s Lance’s height (give or take an inch or two? Hard to tell) with creamy pale skin, sharp features, and a scar that runs up his right cheek. 

He’s still _very naked_ , and he’s _very built_ — hoo boy— but Lance honestly can’t look away from his face. 

Sharp features. Bushy brows furrowed at the center. Long, scraggly dark hair that looks silky smooth, falling to frame his face and across his forehead. Soft, pink, kissable lips pulled into the cutest little pout.

And his eyes. 

Beautiful, dark, indigo eyes. 

Eyes that he’s stared into a thousand times before. 

Eyes that he would recognize _anywhere._

And seeing those achingly familiar eyes in an unfamiliar face, impossible though it may be, is all the proof Lance needs. 

And, you know, the dark red bandana tied around his neck.

Not that it softens the blow at all as the man smiles this small, shy, almost nervous smile and says, “It’s me. Red.” 

Voice all low and rough with disuse. Soft and gentle. Almost shy. A little breathless. Nervous and awed and terribly _fond_. He reaches forward, taking Lance’s free hand, bringing it forward to press against his chest. Right over a scar that decorates his sternum. A scar that’s right where Red’s little white spot would be.

“I’m…” He pauses. Licks his lips— a movement that Lance can’t help but stare at— and glances away for a moment before looking back, gazing up at Lance through his lashes. “I’m Keith. You know me as Red, and…” That smile is back. So small. So fond. So innocent and _genuine_. “I’m your baby boy.”

Lance swallows hard, feeling his heart in his throat, mouth dry. His pulse pounds in his ears. Body feeling frozen as his mind is spiraling. 

“Oh, _fuck.”_

He’s fucked. He’s so _fucked._

* * *

“This can’t be happening,” Lance says for what feels like the hundredth time. “No way. Nu-uh. No-sir-ee bob. This can’t be happening.” Make that one hundred and one. 

Keith sits on the edge of the bed, legs and arms crossed. His shoulders are hunched, and a blanket drapes over him haphazardly, doing very little to hide his bare chest, but at least his junk is covered. 

He still hasn’t taken off that achingly familiar bandana, and it’s an ever present reminder that _this is happening_. Whether Lance thinks it should be possible or not. 

“I still don’t see what the big deal is,” Red— no, _Keith_ — grumbles. Lips pressed into a petulant pout. Eyes watching Lance as he paces back and forth across the room. Lance can fully imagine the tail flicking with annoyance. 

Lance shoots him an irritated glare, pausing in front of him to point a threatening finger right at his nose. Keith goes cross-eyed trying to look at it. “The _big deal_ is that you’re supposed to be a _cat.”_

Keith bats Lance’s hand away— not unlike a cat, _Jesus_ — and rolls his eyes as he scoffs. “ _No_ , I’m _supposed_ to be human, but I was _cursed_ to be a cat. I already _told you_ that.”

A loud, slightly hysterical laugh bubbles past Lance’s lips. “Right. _Right_. A _curse_. Silly me. How could I forget?” He starts up his pacing again, hands worrying in front of him. His knuckles won’t crack anymore, but he twists the digits together all the same. “My cat is just a man who was cursed to be a cat, and is now a man again— a very _naked_ man who is sitting in my room right now, and no longer my cat. Oh! And didn’t you say you were a wizard or something?”

“A witch.”

“Right! A witch. _My bad_. So magic totally exists. That’s a thing. Cool. Cool. _Coolcoolcoolcool.”_

“You… didn’t already know that?”

“ _No_ , I didn’t already _know that!_ ” He mocks, shooting Keith another scowl. “How was I supposed to know that?!”

“You run a witch cafe!”

“ _Yeah_ , but it’s not _real_. We were just playing off the whole black cat theme! You know, witches? Black cats?”

“You’re friends with Allura!”

“So?”

“You’ve even said her drinks are like magic.”

“Yeah, _like_ magic. Not actual magic— wait, are Allura’s drinks actual magic?” His voice climbs an octave, and he can tell he’s getting too loud in his panic because Keith winces, rubbing his ears. “Does that mean Allura is a _witch?”_

“An alchemist, actually,” Keith says, still rubbing his ears, shooting Lance these little petulant glares. 

“What the hell is an alchemist?”

“A powerful witch. Like… an arch mage. She specializes in potions, charms, and healing.”

Lance pauses, glancing at Keith curiously. “Did you.. know her? Like before the curse?”

“No, she told me. When she came into the cafe and we talked.”

“You _talked.”_

“Yeah.”

“She can talk to animals, too?”

“No, but I wasn’t a natural animal.”

“Right. Of course. _Silly me_.” He gasps, slapping a hand to his cheek. It trails off into a groan as he runs his hand up to his hair, tugging at the roots before dragging it heavily down his face. “She _knew_ this would happen, didn’t she? She _planned_ this!”

“She gave you the instructions to break my curse, yeah.”

“And she didn’t _warn me!”_

Keith looks away at that, shifting his weight on the bed. He pulls the blanket a little tighter around himself, looking a little sheepish. “That… was me. I asked her not to.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “In case it didn’t work… I didn’t want it to be weird if you knew but I was still a cat.” He glances up, looking at Lance sidelong, through his lashes, speaking in this quiet, shy voice. “I didn’t want to stop being your favorite.”

And that’s a _shot right through his heart_. Chest squeezing. Butterflies in his stomach. Oh god, this is too much. 

Lance looks away, face pinched in a scowl, heat crawling up his neck to settle on his cheeks. He doesn’t know how to address that— and he can begrudgingly accept that he understands the reasoning— so instead he just says, “A little warning still would’ve been nice…”

“Sorry…” 

There’s the sound of shifting behind him, and Lance whips around. Only to come face to face with a very handsome— very _naked_ — Keith. He freezes, mouth going dry, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Keith’s. Which proves to be just as fatal when Keith offers him this small, shy smile, bordering on hesitant and adorably awkward. 

His poor heart can’t take this. His poor head can barely wrap around it. His body is on board, but that asshole is a traitor. 

Hands come down on Lance’s shoulders, large and warm and slightly rough with callouses that feel stupidly nice against his soft skin. 

“I know this is… weird. And probably a bit scary—“

“I’m not _scared_ ,” he snaps automatically, and despite how quickly his heart is pounding, he knows that much is true. This whole situation is strange and new and the existence of magic is shaking him right down to his core, but… he’s not scared. Not of Keith, anyway. He feels… safe. With him. 

He should probably be a little worried about that, but he’s got bigger fish to fry. Like the fact that Keith is still naked. 

Keith’s smile is knowing, and a little amused, and Lance hates it. But thankfully he continues without comment. “I just… hope we can work through this? It doesn’t have to change anything. I’m still _me_. I’m still Red. Just… more human.”

Lance huffs, turning away to mumble, “You were always more human than any cat should be.” Keith is grinning, and Lance can’t handle it. He sighs, closing his eyes and lifting a hand to rub at them. “I’m not gonna kick you out, if that’s what you’re worried about. This is your home, too. I promised you that when I brought you home, and even if this is _weird_ … you still live here. And it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.”

He can feel the tight grip on his shoulders relax, and until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how tense Keith has been. A soft breath escapes him, sounding immensely relieved, and Lance knows his decision is already made. 

“Besides… I _guess_ I wouldn’t mind the company.” He peeks through his fingers, shooting Keith a glare. The boy’s smile is _blinding_ , and he has these adorable little fangs. Jesus _fuck_. “Just _please_ , for the love of god, _put on some pants.”_

* * *

When Lance opens the door for Hunk, he’s standing there, eyes wild and concerned and slightly out of breath. Lance smiles, and it must be shaky given the way Hunk’s brows furrow, wariness increasing tenfold. “Hey, buddy.”

“What happened?” Hunk asks, cutting right to the chase. “You _never_ ask for us to delay our opening hours. Even when you’re sick, you just have me and Pidge do it. Is everything okay? What happened? Are you dying? Did you hurt yourself? Do we need to go to the hospital? You were really cryptic in your text, which probably means there’s blood and you didn’t want to tell me because you know how squeamish I am, so if there _is_ blood, please keep it covered up so I can drive without throwing up—“

“ _Hunk_ ,” Lance says sharply, stepping through the doorway to put his hands on Hunk’s shoulders. Okay, so maybe he had been a little panicky and vague when he texted Hunk. This is kind of his fault. “ _Calm down_.” He meets Hunk’s gaze, holding it steady until the big guy relaxing. “ _Breathe_. It’s okay. I’m not hurt. There’s just… a _situation_ I think you should be aware of.” 

“A… situation?” Hunk echoes, following Lance into the apartment. He stops just inside the threshold, watching as Lance walks into the living room. 

“Hunk, this is… Keith,” he offers weakly, gesturing awkwardly to the boy sitting on his couch. He’s still _shirtless_ , by the way. He put on a pair of Lance’s sweatpants for decency sake, but they argued for nearly fifteen minutes because Keith said shirts felt _weird_ and itchy after being a cat for so long. 

This was the compromise. 

Oh, and he’s still wearing that bandana. Wears it with a sense of adorable pride and attachment. Scowls at the mere _mention_ of taking it off and holds onto it like he’s afraid Lance might try to take it from him. 

Lance doesn’t have the heart to do that. 

“Lance…” Hunk says slowly, eyeing Keith warily, face pinched as the gears are turning. He’s clearly fitting the pieces together, and Lance _knows_ he’s going to come to the wrong conclusion. “Did you text me to come up here to introduce me to your… one night stand?”

Lance feels himself choke, eyes widening as he sputters out a strangled. “It’s not like that!”

“… Boyfriend?”

Oh, how his voice reaches new heights. “Not like that either!”

“Oh…” He blinks, looking to Keith, wariness bleeding to curiosity and that genuine warmth of kindness that Hunk naturally exudes. “Hi, Keith. I’m Hunk. Why are you shirtless on Lance’s couch?”

“ _Hunk!”_

“ _What?”_

“You can’t just ask him why he’s shirtless!”

“Why not?”

“Because— because it’s— I don’t know, _rude_ or something!”

“I’m just curious why he’s shirtless on your couch. Also, aren’t those your sweatpants? I’m pretty sure you have ones that say _Juicy_ on the leg like that, and on the ass. Also…” Hunk’s eyes narrow, suspicion finally seeping in. “Isn’t that Red’s bandana? Did you make your new boyfriend wear your cat’s bandana?”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“But that _is_ Red’s bandana, right?”

“Well, _yes_ , but—“

“Where is Red, anyway?”

“I’m right here.” Lance’s mouth snaps shut, and they both whip around to stare at Keith. He just smiles, unfolding from the couch and moving to stand in front of Hunk. Offering a hand to shake and everything. Smiling this small smile that’s dimpled on one side— ugh. “I’m Keith, but you know me as Red. It’s nice to finally be able to meet you properly. Your food is amazing, by the way. Lance used to give me pieces of food when you weren’t looking.”

Hunk looks from Keith to Lance. Then down to Keith’s hand. Then back to Keith’s face. Brows furrowing. Lips pursing. Then back to Lance. “This is a weird prank, dude.”

Lance’s face feels like it’s on _fire_. “It’s not a prank!”

“Seriously, where’s Red?”

“He’s right here!” He throws his hands out wildly, gesturing to Keith. He’s not really sure how to get his voice back down to a manageable level. “I know it’s weird, okay? It’s fucking _crazy_. But it’s true.”

Hunk just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Lance—“

“I’m being serious!”

“It’s not even a little convincing. You can do better.”

Lance groans, long and loud, digging his fingers into his hair and pulling. He spins around, pacing across the room before whipping back around. “You think I don’t _know_ that? This has been my entire morning, Hunk! Trying to process this! I woke up with Human Red— who’s name is apparently Keith— lying on me. And I need you to understand so I know I’m not going _crazy_.” He can’t stay still. Pacing quickly. Hands flying around as he gestures wildly. Words spilling out faster and faster. And Hunk just stands there, watching and listening, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “Allura gave me this weird _ritual_ to do with Red. And it was _detailed_ , man. With a lot of weird herb bath bombs and shit. And a _wand!_ A real _wand!_ And I didn’t realize what it was at first, but she was super serious, and you know you can’t say no to Allura when she’s super serious. So I gave Red his weird ritual bath, and nothing happened, so we went to bed, and when I woke up, he was human!” 

“Lance…” Hunk says slowly. It’s eternally patient, and a little exasperated, but there’s something else there. A little _give_. Suspicious, yes. Wary, definitely. But a slight _give_ that tells Lance that he doesn’t _want_ to believe it, but… he _could_. “This is all really weird, dude.”

“I _know_ ,” Lance says with a loud laugh. “I know, man. Trust me, I fucking _know_. But now Keith is here, and once you spend ten minutes with the guy, you’ll know what I mean when I say the resemblance is uncanny. And you can’t deny that Red has always been a little too _aware_ for a cat. Apparently he’s never actually been a _real_ cat? He says he was a witch who was cursed to be a cat— oh, by the way, witches and magic are also real. Apparently Allura is a witch and all her drinks are _actually_ magic. Go figure, right?”

“Lance,” Hunk says, like it’s the only thing that makes sense. Hell, it probably is. He closes his eyes, rubbing his temples as he frowns. “This is… a _lot_. Even for you.”

“I’m telling the truth!”

“How am I supposed to believe your _cat_ turned into a guy that’s exactly your type—“

“ _Hunk!”_

A loud meow cuts through the room, and both he and Hunk whip around to stare. 

Right where Keith had been standing, in a pile of sweatpants, sits Red. Black cat. Red bandana. The only thing out of the ordinary is the strange glow behind his indigo eyes and the smoke that seems to swirl off his fur, dissipating into the air. 

“Holy shit…” Lance breathes 

“Oh my god,” Hunk whispers. Then louder, “Oh my _god!”_

“Do you believe me _now?_ Wait…” He turns back to Red, hurrying across the room to fall to his knees in front of the cat. He reaches out a hand, but hesitates. He doesn’t want it to be weird, but… now that he’s seen Keith naked and human, it _is_ kind of weird. He frowns, brows furrowing. “Can you change back or are you stuck like this again? Is this a back and forth kind thing?”

The smoke around Red thickens. Swirling in an invisible wind. Consuming him. Obscuring his form. Until all that’s left are two, glowing indigo eyes. 

Lance gasps, falling backwards on his ass and scrambling back a few feet. Somewhere behind him, he hears Hunk muttering, but he’s not paying attention. All he can do is watch as smoke consumes the eyes, grows in shape, and then starts to peel away. 

Blowing off to dissipate into nothing, revealing smooth, porcelain skin behind. 

Keith crouches in front of Lance, lips spread in a toothy smirk, eyes alight as he reaches out a hand. 

On that forearm is an intricate and detailed tattoo of a black cat. Lance had noticed it before, thought it amusing given the circumstances, and then hadn’t thought twice about it. But now there are still a few tendrils of smoke peeling off of it. The eyes on the tattoo seem to glow. 

“It’s a back and forth sort of thing,” Keith says, amusement lacing his words. “I could do it before, but the curse trapped me in the cat body.”

Without anything else to do, Lance takes his hand. He’s pulled roughly to his feet and nearly stumbles into the— once again— _naked body_ in front of him. 

His face is on fire, and Keith is just smirking like he _knows._

Lance shoves his chest, whirling around to cross his arms over his chest. “Put on some pants!” His voice totally does not crack. Shut up. Hunk is just staring. Wide eyed. Mouth hanging open. He looks shell shocked. Lance smirks. “Believe me now?”

Hunk straightens, mouth snapping shut. Lance can see the gears turning behind his eyes, his expression flickering through emotions quickly as he tries to process. Finally he says, “We have to tell Pidge.”

* * *

As it turns out, they ended up closing the cafe for the whole day. Other than making sure the cats were all fed and taken care of, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge spent the entire day in Lance’s apartment above the cafe. 

With Keith.

Interrogating Keith.

Trying to make sense of everything. 

Trying to process the fact that magic is _real_ , Red is now Keith, and Keith is a witch.

Life.

Unpredictable, as always.

“Here you go,” Lance says as he drops a bundle of blankets on the couch next to where Keith sits. He finally got the guy to put on a shirt, but that had less to do with his own weak suggestions and more to do with Pidge practically wrestling it onto him. 

Keith glances at the blankets and huffs. He’s sitting cross legged, arms crossed over his chest, and shoulders hunched. He’s clearly _pouting_ , and he seems to do it a lot. Lance isn’t sure why he’s surprised. Red has always been needy and whiny. 

It was endearing as a cat, but he refuses to think it’s adorable now.

He crosses his own arms, frowning as he says, “What?”

Keith glances up at him, through his lashes, and then away, grumbling under his breath, “I still don’t see why I can’t just sleep with you.”

Lance’s mouth falls open, a few garbled half-formed words escaping before he finally pieces together: “Because!” 

Smooth. Good one. Perfect.

Keith glances at him sidelong. Out of the corner of his eye. Brows furrowed and frown on his lips. “Because why?”

“ _Because_ ,” he emphasizes. “Because it’s _weird.”_

Keith turns to look at him fully, giving him a flat look. “I’ve slept with you in that bed every night since you brought me home. It’s not _weird_ , Lance. It’s normal.”

“Yeah, but!” He sputters. He’s floundering. His ears are burning. “But you weren’t human then! You were a cat!”

“So?”

“So it wasn’t weird when you were a cat!”

“… So if I turn back into a cat—“

“Keith, no! It’s still weird!”

He groans, throwing his head back and sinking low on the couch. “I don’t see _why_.”

“Because— because— because it _is_ , okay?” He’s fuming. He can’t deal with this. He can’t. He won’t. He’s not going to sleep with Keith being all— all hot and _human_. He can’t handle that. Not right now.

Keith looks down, brows pinched and teeth working subtly at his bottom lip. Lance can’t tell if he’s lost in thought or just pouting, so after a few moments of silence, he starts to turn. But then Keith speaks up, so quiet and small. “Do I make you uncomfortable now?”

He freezes, turning to look back at Keith his his heart in his throat. 

Keith hasn’t looked up. “I swear, I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I just thought…” He shakes his head, violently, dismissing the thoughts in his head. “Never mind.” He huffs, turning to the pile of blankets. “Goodnight, Lance.”

Lance stares at him for a moment, watching him get situated. He feels… off. This is what he wanted, and yet his stomach churns. His chest feels tight. 

Finally he says, “Night, Keith,” and heads back toward his room.

* * *

Three hours later, Lance still can’t sleep. 

He’s been tossing and turning. His head is going non-stop, trying to process everything, overthinking everything, and just… _going too fast._

Not to mention he just _can’t_ get comfortable. 

Nothing is comfortable. He feels itchy and restless. He… really misses Red. Misses the soft rumble of his purr, so easy to feel and focus on. The comforting weight on his chest, so much heavier than a cat that small had any right to be. His soft fur under his fingertips. The cute little noises. The head nuzzling under his chin…

Jesus fucking— 

He tosses the blankets off him with far too much dramatic flair, but he doesn’t _care_ anymore. Fuck it. 

Just… fuck it.

He throws himself out of his bed, and stomps over to his bedroom door, but his steps get quieter as he reaches the hallway, padding out toward the living room. 

Doubt creeps in, but he doesn’t stop moving forward. It’s late. He’s exhausted. He’s frustrated. He just wants to _sleep_. And he misses Red… Keith? He misses Keith. As much as he hates to admit it, he feels lonely. 

Red may not be a cat anymore, but he’s still here. Human— a very unfairly attractive human— but it’s still _him._

And Lance misses him. 

In his bed.

Oh god, this is going to get weird, but _fuck it_ , right? Right. 

He pauses at the living room, arms crossed over his chest. On the couch, Keith is sprawled out on his back, one hand behind his head. Staring at the ceiling. Light from the window filters through the darkness. Igniting his pale skin. The cascade of dark hair. The curve of his neck and collarbones peeking out from beneath the blanket.

As soon as Lance stops, Keith’s head rolls to look at him. Eyes strangely backlit. Glowing. It should be eerie, but it’s not. 

Keith doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look expectant or hopeful. Just stares. Just waits patiently. Watching. Giving Lance room to make the first step.

He takes a deep breath, letting it out in a huff as he turns on his heel. “Come on, then.”

He doesn’t hear Keith following, nor does he turn around to check. When he gets back to his room, he crawls back into bed, scooting all the way to the other side.

When he turns, Keith is standing there. Watching. Looking… nervous? Uncertain.

Lance sighs, patting the bed next to him. “Come on, dude.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Keith crawls into bed wearing nothing but those sweatpants. Settling under the blankets and turned on his side. Watching Lance. An expectant look in his eyes. 

Lance sighs _again_ , just to drive home his point, then rolls onto his back, holding an arm out. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right. But I don’t wanna hear a _word_ , got it?”

Keith says nothing, but he smiles as he scoots closer. Pressing himself along Lance’s side. He hesitates for a moment, then rests his head on Lance’s shoulder, letting out a pent up breath that fans out across his collarbones. 

And as Keith snuggles in— nosing under Lance’s chin, half propped up on his chest, one leg over Lance’s, an arm slung around his middle— Lance finds himself relaxing. Sinking into it. Eyes closing as his arm wraps around Keith’s shoulders, fingers sinking into his silky soft hair. 

He falls asleep quickly after that.

* * *

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me…” Lance grumbles. He’s sitting on the arm of one of the many couches in the cafe. Blue sits on his lap, preening as he pets her. His first baby. The one who started this whole thing. She may not have lived with him like Red, but she has a special place in his heart. 

“He asked me not to,” Allura says from his side. She sits on the couch, legs crossed, cats practically crawling over her lap, all mewing for attention. 

“It still would’ve been nice to get some kind of warning before I woke up with a naked man in my bed.” He’s bitter, but it’s mostly just a matter of principle by now. 

Keith has been _Keith_ for a couple weeks, and things… have gone pretty smoothly, all things considered. It’s different having him around as a human, but it’s also kind of… nice. Red was nice, too, but now Lance has a roommate that he can actually have conversations with. 

One that can laugh— he has a very pretty laugh that gives Lance butterflies.

One that can banter with about the shows they watch on Netflix— despite being a cat for nearly two decades, Keith is quick as a whip, and it’s thrilling to have someone who can keep him on his toes.

One that makes Lance feel just a little less lonely.

“I assume it wasn’t so bad to wake up to, given that he still lives with you.” There’s something in Allura’s voice that has Lance bristling, heat surging beneath his skin. 

“Of course, he still lives with me. Where else would he go?” He scoffs, completely ignoring her insinuation. 

“You could have pawned him off on me. I broke his curse, after all.”

Lance blinks, turning to look at her. “Would you have taken him in?”

“Of course.”

“Oh…” He honestly hadn’t thought of that. He had never once considered kicking Keith out or finding him another place to stay. 

“He can still come stay with me if it’s a hassle—“

“No!” She looks at him, lips curled and eyes amused. He huffs and looks away, heat prickling at the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. He’s fine.”

_He’s mine._

The thought is unbidden and embarrassing, making Lance’s chest tighten even as his stomach flips. Keith isn’t _his_. As a cat he has been _his_ cat, but now he’s _human._ Lance has no claim on him, even if he might kinda sorta feel that way— no, that’s weird. Right? Right. It’s not like they’re _together_ or anything. Keith is his own person.

His own really cool, really handsome, really sweet and funny person. 

He watches Keith from across the room. Hunk has been trying to train him to man the front desk. They all agreed that the best place for Keith to start living his life again would be to get a job, and where better than here? He’s already familiar with the cafe, the cats all love him, and he lives just above. Not to mention they understand his lack of personal documentation. 

So far, Keith has just been taking care of the cats and storage stuff— he’s a lot stronger than Lance is, and the first time Lance saw him lift a box onto a high shelf with ease, Lance just about had a heart attack— But Hunk said it might be nice to get him used to all the positions. 

So. Front desk. 

And as it turns out, the whole staring down customers thing? That’s not a cat thing. That’s just a Keith thing. 

As Lance watches, Hunk admonishes Keith gently and quietly for glaring. Again. Keith looks down quickly, mumbling apologies, and the customers across the desk relax. 

As a light blush makes its way across Keith’s cheeks, all cute and rosy, he finds himself smiling. 

“It seems you’re quite fond of him,” Allura says, just a hair too sweet to be casual. She leans in close, lowering her voice as she says, “Is he still your baby boy.”

“Shut _up_ , Allura!” 

* * *

As much as Lance wishes it was, Keith’s magic isn’t flashy. It’s nothing like the movies. No big lights. No dancing cleaning supplies. No bending elements and displays of fire. No hocus pocus. No bibbidy bobbity boo. 

It’s subtle. 

It’s in a gentle touch, a flick of his wrist, and a flash of light deep within his eyes, igniting these little flecks of violet that dot his indigo irises like stars. 

It’s so subtle, that at first, Lance isn’t sure he’s doing magic at all. But he’s always been observant, and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t spend a lot of time sneaking peeks at Keith. So he starts to notice. 

When Pidge is about to trip and Keith’s eyes flash. The way she suddenly rights herself, breathes a sigh of relief, and keeps going. 

When someone is breaking rules or being downright rude and Keith frowns deeply. Then suddenly that person is spilling hot coffee on themselves or dropping their phone. 

When Lance burns himself on steam and suddenly Keith is there, holding his hand, his touch brushing away the pain as his smile makes Lance’s stomach flip. 

When there’s some sort of disagreement or bad energy, and all Keith has to do is be present, scowling in that way he does, and suddenly things just feel… _lighter._

When the cafe plants are dying and not even Pidge can seem to bring them back, but suddenly Keith is there, fingers running across their leaves, whispering, and the next day they’re healthy and flourishing. 

When any of them complain about something they’re worrying about or stressing over, something that’s up in the air and uncertain… how if they mention it to Keith, and he assure them it’ll be alright, it just kind of… _is_. It always turns out okay.

Keith tries to describe it to him one day, while the two of them are sitting around the firepit in Hunk’s backyard. 

They’re surrounded by friends, chatting and laughing. The smell of grilled burgers. The sound of beer bottles being opened. The crisp chill of the encroaching fall in the air. 

They’re not alone, but sitting in a lawn chair next to Keith— far too close than is strictly casual, mind you— Lance feels like they might as well be.

“I can’t _create_ anything,” Keith is saying, a thoughtful furrow to his brows. “I can only… manipulate what’s already there. Everything has an energy, and I can tap into that energy and shift it. It also helps me get a good read on people. I can tell who has good intentions and who has bad intentions.”

“So you can totally read their vibes,” Lance says, leaning back in his chair, half turned towards Keith, giving him his full attention. “That explains the unnerving _staring_ thing you do.”

Keith frowns, small and petulant. “I do not—“

“You do _so_ ,” he says with a laugh. “You did it as a cat, and you do it now.”

Keith huffs, rolling his eyes as he looks away. “I just want to make sure everyone is safe…”

Lance blames the two beers he’s had when he leans over the space between them, putting a hand on Keith’s forearm and squeezing, saying in a low voice, offering a warm smile. “I know, and we appreciate it.” 

Keith looks at him then. So suffocatingly _fond_. Leaning forward. Closing the space between them. His own hand falling over Lance’s, slotting into the spaces between his fingers. As he feels Keith’s hair brush against his forehead, panic forces him to babble, “So you can kinda affect luck.”

Keith leans back then, eyeing Lance with clear confusion, tilting his head to the side. “What?”

“You know. You tap into energy or whatever. All the juju around people. You can affect their luck.”

“Luck doesn’t exist, Lance,” he deadpans. 

But Lance just waves it off. “I’ve seen what you do, buddy. You can make good things and bad things happen to people. You do that weird eye thing and shit just _happens_. Like seemingly by accident. You can totally give them good luck or bad luck, depending on your mood.” 

Keith scowls. “I… guess. If you look at it like that.”

Lance tilts his head, a shit eating grin spreading across his lips. “You really are like a black cat, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, some cultures say a black cat crossing your path is bad luck, but others say that a black cat brings good luck. You bring both.” 

Keith blinks, expression going thoughtful. He nods slowly, a small, barely there smile on his lips. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

“Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you crossed my path.”

Keith’s smile is enough to make Lance melt. “Yeah… me, too.” He lifts Lance’s hand then, stretching both of them out towards the fire. Lance immediately tenses, trying to pull back, but Keith is strong. And when he looks at Lance, a mischievous smile on his lips as he whispers, “Do you trust me?”

Lance relaxes, answering immediately. “Of course.”

Keith sticks their joined hands in the fire, and Lance winces— only to realize that it doesn’t burn. It’s warm, yeah, but… it’s not burning. No charred flesh or aching sting. It’s just… well, _warm_. He watches in awe as flames lick up his hand, brushing across his knuckles. He can _feel_ it. The slight pressure of it. But it’s no more than kitten licks of warmth.

“Whoa…” He breathes, and Keith chuckles. 

“I can’t create things like fire, but I can curb their energies. I can keep it from burning you. I can protect you.” He turns to Lance, pinning him with a stare that’s strangely unnerving. Not because it’s hostile, but because of the sheer intensity of it. That gaze rips past Lance’s walls, tearing deep into his heart, right to where he feels most vulnerable. His voice is a low rumble as he says simply, “I will keep you safe.”

It sounds like a promise. 

Lance swallows hard, head spinning and heart hammering.

Oh, _fuck._

* * *

Keith never stops surprising him. 

One day he walks into his apartment after a long day at work (one of the cats had to be rushed to the vet, and he’s been on panic mode from eight am to ten pm) only to be hit by the smell of home cooked food. 

He pauses in the doorway, practically stumbling as his eyes close. He inhales deeply, stomach rumbling something fierce. It smells so good his knees nearly give out, eyes prickling as the stress and exhaustion from the day come crashing down in a wave of relief and comfort. 

It reminds him of living at home when his mom cooked dinner. Or when he lived with Hunk and his best friend always put food out for when he got home. 

“I’m home!” He calls out as he shuts the door, dropping his bag to the floor before haphazardly kicking off his shoes. 

As he shuffles deeper into his apartment, he’s greeted with the sight of Keith. Standing in his kitchen. Sleeves rolled up and hair pulled back in a messy bun. Hovering over a stove that’s cluttered with pans. Ingredients and dirty cutting boards littering the counters. 

“You can _cook?_ ” Lance gapes as he steps into the kitchen, staring in awe and crowding in close, peering over Keith’s shoulder to get a look at what he’s doing. 

“Yeah,” Keith says with a soft chuckle. “My mom taught me more about herbs than anyone should ever know, and my dad taught me how to cook growing up. It’s how we bonded.”

That’s all super cool and very cute, but Lance is distracted, brows furrowing as he says, “Wait a second, is that…?”

“Your favorite? Yeah. I called Hunk and asked him what to make for you.” 

Lance turns to look at him, still hovering, blinking back the stinging sensation behind his eyes. “You… did?” 

Keith hums, nodding as he absently continues to poke and stir at two pans at once. “Yeah. You’ve had a hard day, and I knew you probably wouldn’t eat because you tend to forget when you’re stressed. So I figured it’s the least I could do.” 

And then— as if this couldn’t get any stranger— Keith turns, places a hand on Lance’s chest, and leans into press a quick and fleeting _kiss_ to his cheek. 

His lips are soft and chapped and lined with stubble and incredibly warm. 

And he’s left floundering, brain short circuiting, eyes wide and mouth gaping as Keith pulls away with another breathy chuckle. The hand on his chest pushes lightly as he turns back to the stove. “Get a couple of the beers out of the fridge and go set the table. I’m almost done.”

Moving on autopilot, he does as he’s told. Stiffly and awkwardly, he shuffles to the fridge and then out to the table. And once out of Keith’s sight, he presses both beers to his cheeks, hoping the cold will help clear his head. 

Because what the _fuck_ was _that?!_

It was a kiss, obviously, but… like, where did it _come from?_ He’s not gonna deny the fact that he’s been _feeling_ some things around Keith, and he can’t say he hasn’t noticed how Keith’s attachment to him clearly wasn’t just a cat thing, but like… the strange part?

That kiss had been so _easy._

So natural.

So… _fitting._

It’s strange because it wasn’t strange at all. And Lance’s heart can’t decide between soaring and sinking. 

The cold beers clear his head enough for him to function, but he can still feel the lingering warmth of Keith’s lips.

* * *

So… here’s the thing.

It’s not that Lance doesn’t like Keith. The problem is that Lance likes Keith _a little too much._

He’s not surprised, really. He has a tendency to fall hard and fast. He loves love, and he loves the feeling of being in love. He loves caring about someone else. Loves feeling cared about. Loves the feeling of being someone’s special someone. 

And with Keith, things have just been so _easy._

Keith is comfortable with him from the start. And after the initial awkward adjustment, Lance gets pretty comfortable with Keith. It’s easy to live together. It’s easy to work together. Keith is easy to talk to, about anything and everything. Even silences with him are comfortable, never once leaving him uncertain and guessing. 

He likes bickering with Keith. 

He likes being competitive with Keith.

He likes how Keith will meet him toe-to-toe, always up for a challenge, always ready with a quip and a smirk, a fire in his eyes that feels consuming and solely for Lance. 

He likes that no matter how competitive they get, it’s never harsh or tense. It’s always in good fun, and it always leaves them grinning afterward. 

He likes watching movies with Keith. Likes introducing Keith to new technology that he isn’t used to, likes helping him adjust to this new world. 

His eyes are always drawn to Keith. Always staring at him from across the room. Always seeking him out. Loves to watch him be awkward with customers but an absolute angel with the cats. They all love him. Follow him around and listen to him like they understand. Hell, they probably do. They treat him like their leader, and it’s the most adorable thing Lance has ever witnessed. 

And most of all, Lance loves how easy it is to be close to Keith. 

More often than not, they find themselves standing close. Bumping into each other. Trading small smiles. Keith isn’t afraid to come up behind him and hook his chin over Lance’s shoulder. And Lance isn’t afraid to lean on Keith in a show of being too tired to stand on his own. He likes sharing space with Keith, the casual small touches, the shy looks and bright grins. 

They end up cuddling on the couch more often than not, especially when they’re alone. 

Keith almost always ends up tilting against Lance until he falls into his lap. Curls up there like he owns it. Hell, he probably does at this point. Lance is far too whipped for this boy. He was when Keith was a cat, and he definitely is now. 

He ends up running his fingers through Keith’s hair whenever he can, marveling and bemoaning over how soft it is. At first, he had been hesitant, but Keith really seems to like it. Love it, even. Seeks it out. To the point where he’ll huff and grab Lance’s hand, guiding it to his hair. As Lance scratches his scalp, he’ll sigh happily and practically melt against Lance, purring softly.

Oh. Right. That’s a thing, too, apparently. Keith still purrs, even when he’s in his human form. It’s goddamn adorable. 

And every night they move to Lance’s bed— which, he supposes, is _their_ bed now. Keith curls up with him without preamble. Without any ounce of hesitation or awkwardness. Just nuzzles right into Lance and wraps his arms around him. Falling asleep far too quickly. All the while purring that soft rumble that helps Lance sleep. 

It’s comfortable.

It’s nice. 

It’s easy.

_Too easy._

Because back to the problem?

The problem is… complicated. Lance should be happy, and he _is_. But… he also feels guilty. 

Because Keith? Keith is happy, too. He’s over the fucking _moon_ any time Lance gives him a fucking _ounce_ of attention. But… that’s the problem. Keith is way too attached to him. Keith is glued to his side twenty-four seven. And don’t get him wrong, he _loves_ having Keith around. Loves spending as much time as he can with him. For once, he honestly and truly doesn’t feel alone.

For once, he has everything he’s always wanted.

But… it’s not right. 

Keith has been a cat for nearly _two decades_. Before all of this, he had a _life_. He had hobbies, and a job probably, and friends, and he was his own _person_. Now… now he’s just Lance’s person, and that’s it. He’s molded himself against Lance to the point where it’s _too perfect_. To the point where Lance has started to feel guilty. 

Because Keith? Keith is _amazing_. He’s kind and strong and stubborn and has _so much_ to give. And he deserves to find his own place in this world, especially after it was nearly taken from him. 

As much as Lance loves his life right now, no matter how happy he is, Keith… deserves more. 

The guilt is a bitterness on his tongue whenever he smiles. It’s a chill down his spine whenever he’s tucked against Keith’s side. It’s a churning in his gut whenever Keith places food in front of him, grinning that bright cheshire grin. 

So Lance, ever one to handle his own conflicting emotions perfectly, does what comes natural to him.

He avoids his problems. 

* * *

He should’ve realized that Keith would notice. 

Should’ve also realized that Keith is blunt enough to confront him about it.

* * *

“Why’re you avoiding me?” 

Lance yelps, a half choked and half strangled scream. He jumps, whirling around with his fingers still pressed to his cheeks, eyes wide as he stares at Keith filling the bathroom doorway— because honestly, he really does fill up the doorway, with those broad shoulders that are totally not fair. 

Keith stares at him, unblinking and intense, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders squared like he’s gearing up for a fight. 

Lance swallows hard, pursing his lips as he turns back to the mirror. He continues his skin care routine like nothing happened. “I’m not avoiding you,” he says, smooth as silk. His hands may be shaking, but thank god his voice isn’t. 

“Lance.” There’s that flat tone. That one that means he sees right through Lance’s bullshit. He had a meow like that once, too. Goddamn insightful bastard. 

“Keith,” he tries mimicking. It doesn’t have the same effect. 

Keith sighs, and when Lance glances at him in the mirror, he can see Keith start to crack. He shifts his weight. One hand going to his hip and the other running through his hair. He’s no longer staring, instead glaring holes at some spot on the floor. 

“Look, I _know_ you’ve been avoiding me. You’ve been doing it for _weeks_ now.” When Lance opens his mouth to protest, Keith’s eyes snap to his in the mirror, fierce and fiery. “Don’t try to deny it, Lance. I’m not stupid.”

He promptly closes his mouth and has the decency to look as sheepish if he feels. “Look, it’s not what you think—“

“Is this because I kissed you?” 

Lance promptly chokes, wind rushing from his lungs like a punch to the gut. They haven’t really _kissed_ , but Keith has gotten a lot more open and free about pressing his lips to Lance’s cheek, forehead, temple, collarbones, hands— it’s nice, _very_ nice, but also overwhelming in Lance’s current state of emotional conflict.

“No?”

“I can stop.” He looks desperate. _Sounds_ desperate. Voice cracking like he’s about to break. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think to ask, and I crossed a line. I just… please don’t shut me out. I’ll give you space. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

And that’s just it, isn’t it? Keith is willing to give him whatever he needs. Even at the cost of his own happiness. 

Lance groans, long and loud, wiping off his hands before pushing past Keith. “That’s not _it_ , okay? It’s more complicated than that.” He stomps out into his room, trying to breathe now that he’s not trapped in the bathroom. He crosses his arms over his chest, back to Keith, trying not to hunch in on himself. “I don’t need space. Or… maybe I do? I don’t really know. This is all so _weird_. Everything is _weird_ , and I don’t know what to think or how to feel about it, and—“ He sighs, loud and frustrated before mumbling. “Things were so much easier when you were a cat.”

A moment later, his thoughts are interrupted by a soft meow, so broken and small. 

He freezes, breath catching in his throat, before whirling around. 

And in a pile of clothes in the doorway to the bathroom, sits a small black cat. Looking up at him with the biggest, beautiful indigo eyes. Body language full of uncertainty.

“Oh, _Keith_ …” Lance breathes, air rushing from his lungs. He falls to his knees, opening up his arms out of instinct more than anything. He hesitates before making his way over to Lance, unable to hide his own urgency. Lance scoops him up, burying his face in Keith’s fur. “I’m so sorry, baby boy. I didn’t mean— I don’t _want_ to push you away. That’s not what I meant— I just… I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You deserve so much more than me. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” 

He’s babbling, and he knows it. He barely registers what he’s saying. All he knows is that his heart _aches._

“Please change back. _Please_. I didn’t mean it. I like you human. I _prefer_ you human. Please, Keith. I don’t want you to be Red anymore. I want you to be _you.”_

As smoke begins to curl off of black fur, Lance hurries to set him down. He watches as it swirls, grows, engulfs the form of a cat and shifting until black smoke is peeling off of pale, porcelain skin. 

And then Keith is kneeling in front of him, naked and beautiful. He looks at Lance with those big, sad eyes. Looking more torn and uncertain than Lance has ever seen. And when he speaks, he sounds so _small_. So _broken_. “I don’t know what you _want_ from me.”

“Oh, Keith…” Lance sighs again, surging forward to wrap his arms around broad shoulders. He buries his face in Keith’s neck, shuddering as Keith does the same. Arms wrap around his waist, pulling him forward until he’s in Keith’s lap, thighs straddling bare hips. “I just want you to be _you_ ,” he whispers again, ragged and hoarse. 

Keith pulls away from him, and Lance lifts his head, bowed and sheepish as he looks up at Keith through his lashes. 

He’s not smiling, but there’s a tenderness there. He’s hesitant as his hands pull away from Lance’s waist. Hesitant as those hands reach for his face. And Lance bites the inside of his cheek, feeling uncharacteristically shy as Keith cups his jaw.

His eyes fall closed as thumbs brush along his cheekbones. 

Breath hitches in his throat as Keith’s hair brushes against his face.

Lets the air out in a soft whine, lips parting, as Keith’s breath fans out across his mouth. 

And then Keith is kissing him.

Soft at first. A mere brush of their lips. But as Lance doesn’t pull away— as his hands dig into Keith’s shoulders to pull him closer— his head tilts, pressing their mouths together in earnest. 

It’s a heated push and pull. Gentle and languid. Drawing out each moment, each kiss, until the moment breaks, only to drive back in once more. Keith kisses like he does everything else. With confidence and a passion that leaves Lance’s head spinning. He throws his whole self into it, taking what he wants and giving everything in return. 

He kisses Lance like he’s dying for it. 

Like he’s drowning and Lance is his lifeline. 

It’s all Lance can do to cling to him, slowly suffocating in _Keith Keith Keith_ , and struggling to give as much as he can. 

Then Keith’s arms are around him, scooping him up as he stands. Never once breaking their kiss as Lance wraps his legs around Keith’s waist. Never once stops devouring Lance’s mouth as he crawls onto the bed and lays them both down. 

When he finally does break away, he presses their foreheads together. Both of their chests heaving with every desperate breath. Lips red and swelling. Eyes alight with fire as he whispers, rough and ragged, “I want to make you happy.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? The root of Lance’s guilt. He doesn’t want Keith to dedicate his life to making Lance happy. He wants Keith to find his own happiness, and hope that he can still fit into it. 

But he can’t find the words to say it. 

Can’t bring himself to voice his guilt. 

He’s afraid— scared _shitless_ that it might mean losing Keith altogether. Might destroy this little pocket of happiness he’s found himself living in.

Because if he convinces Keith that he shouldn’t feel obligated to stay— if he convinces Keith that he doesn’t owe Lance anything and that he’s free to carve out a new life for himself— if he tells Keith to do whatever makes _him_ happy…

Then would Lance still fit into it at all?

Would Keith even stay?

So instead he surges forward, capturing Keith’s lips once more, pouring everything he has into the kiss. Everything that he can’t find the words to say. 

He can only hope that it’s enough.

* * *

Lance is happy…

Just like that. No period, no comma, but with a vague and ominous ellipses. Lance is happy _dot dot dot_. Like there’s a _but_ coming. Like there’s a storm brewing on the horizon. Like he’s happy, but also not quite. 

He feels like there’s a timer on his happiness. An endless countdown for when things finally go to shit. For when he’ll finally break. For when Keith realizes this isn’t what he wants and Lance will be left alone. 

Lance is happy… for now. 

It’s a sour edge that taints every smile. A chill that edges every warm fluttering feeling. It’s an ache in his heart that accompanies every kiss. Something that’s never truly gone. Forever lurking in the back of his mind. 

No matter how much Keith smiles. No matter how much he nuzzles under Lance’s chin and purrs. No matter how often he presses himself up against Lance or reaches out with fleeting touches like he just can’t help himself… Lance can never fully enjoy it. 

The guilt, the doubt, his worries… it all weights heavily on his shoulders. 

And it feels like he’s just waiting for the day that he’ll break and it’ll all come crashing down.

Until then, he pours everything he can into his time with Keith. He kisses him like every one will be his last. Clings to him and holds him tight, like he’s afraid he’ll fly away. Smiles just to make Keith smile, even though it makes his chest ache with a growing sense of future loss. 

He’s determined to make the most out of the time they have left. 

Even if he knows it’ll hurt more in the end.

* * *

One night, months after Keith’s curse is broken, Lance steps out of the bathroom after a shower to find Keith brooding on the couch. 

Slouched low. Feet up on the coffee table. Lance’s laptop open and propped up on his stomach (Hunk and Pidge had been teaching Keith how to use the latest technologies, and Keith has been a surprisingly quick learner). His brows are furrowed. Lips pursed in thought. And the tension around him is thick enough to be suffocating. 

“Hey, buddy,” Lance says gently, feet automatically taking him across the room, powerless to fight against the tug pulling him to Keith’s side. Hair still wet from his shower, heat still sunken in his skin, he wraps his robe tighter around himself and perches on the arm of the couch next to Keith. “Whatcha doin’?”

He leans over, getting a good look at the laptop screen, only to find… Facebook?

“I found him…” Keith’s voice is barely a whisper, awed and pained all at once. 

“Who?”

“Shiro…” He suddenly wipes aggressively at his face, digging the heel of his hand into his eyes. When he speaks, his voice cracks, “I found Shiro…”

Lance can’t help but reach out. Dip his fingers into Keith’s hair, running them through the silken strands. His nails scrape lightly at Keith’s scalp, moving down to massage the back of his neck. 

Keith hums— a not-quite purr— and leans into the touch. Leaning heavily against the arm of the couch. Tilting his head until it’s resting atop Lance’s thigh. 

It gives him a better look at the profile on the laptop screen.

_Takashi Shirogane._

“Who’s Shiro?” 

“My little cousin,” Keith says with a hiccuped laugh. “Though I guess he’s not very little anymore.” He reaches out, fingertips brushing the screen over a picture of a handsome man with broad shoulders, a square jaw, a facial scar, and a shock of white hair. In the picture, he’s standing with his arm over another man with tan skin and glasses, holding him close. His relationship status is married. “He’s so big now…”

“Shiro’s your cousin?” He supposes he can see some of the family resemblance, though they’re built very differently. This man is broad and wide and strong, and Keith is… sharper. More lithe. A lean sort of strength. 

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, eyes still glued to the screen. “On my dad’s side. He’s not a witch like me and mom, but he knew about us. He spent a lot of summers with us. He loved seeing us do magic…” Keith sniffs, and it sounds a little wet. His voice a little thick. 

Lance keeps petting his hair, soothing him the best way he can. Waiting patiently for Keith to continue.

“I was like a big brother to him, and he was the little brother I never had. I was twenty-five when mom and I were cursed, and he was only ten… Now he’s older than I am.” Keith sighs, turning his head to bury his face in Lance’s thigh, voice muffled as he says, “I never got to say goodbye…”

Lance swallows hard, feeling a lump forming in his throat. His heart aches for Keith, twisting itself raw with his pain. “Does he… does he know what happened?”

Keith shakes his head. “It happened suddenly. Someone from mom’s past. Only mom and I were home. We were trapped in our cat forms and taken away. Our house was set on fire… I heard later that my dad went in to save us and never came out.”

“Keith…” Lance slips off the arm of the couch, pushing Keith until there’s enough space to slide down beside him. Keith immediately leans back into him, burying his face in the crook of Lance’s neck. It’s one of his favorite spots to be, whether he’s content or hiding. 

And right now? He’s definitely hiding. 

Lance warps his arms around him, still running his fingers through his hair. “Keith,” he whispers, cheek resting atop Keith’s head. “What happened to your mom?”

Keith stiffens against him for a moment before slumping with a painfully heavy sigh. Voice so small as he says, “I don’t know… We stayed together for nearly ten years before we were separated. I stayed in the area, and I hope she did, too, but… I’ve never been able to find her.”

“Is she still a cat?” 

Keith shrugs, muttering a lost, “Dunno…”

“Was she a black cat like you?”

“Yeah…”

“Well… everyone in this town and the ones nearby know that the Black Lion is the go to place to send rescued black cats. If anyone can find her, it’s us.” He squeezes Keith tighter, nuzzling into his hair. “We’ll find her, Keith. If she’s out there, we’ll find her. I promise.” 

He doesn’t quite hear Keith’s sob, but he feels the way his body convulses. His hands curl into Lance’s robe, and his voice sounds thick as he whispers, “Thank you, Lance.”

“And in the meantime, you’ve found your cousin! That’s exciting, right?” With one hand still running his fingers through Keith’s hair, his other reaches out to scroll the Facebook profile. Eyes still on the screen, he turns his head to press his lips to Keith’s temple. “You have _family_ out there, Keith. And it looks like he only lives like forty minutes away. And, you know, him knowing about your magic will help explain the whole _you-still-looking-twenty-five-after-twenty-years_ thing—“

Lance freezes, hand in Keith’s hair going still. His words cut off with a choked gasp, mouth snapping shut. 

Keith lifts his head, wide indigo eyes full of concern as he looks at Lance. His brows furrow, head tilting to the side. “Lance?”

But Lance can’t look at him. His eyes are glued to the screen. Zeroed in on a picture that Shiro has recently posted. 

It’s of him and the man Lance can only assume is his husband. Someone by the name of Adam. It’s a selfie, with Shiro’s smiling face in the corner as he holds his phone up. Behind him stands his husband, wearing a _Kiss the Cook_ apron as he mans the grill. 

But Lance is looking at neither of them.

He’s staring at the woman standing with Adam by the grill. 

She’s tall and lithe. Pale, porcelain skin. Curved marks tattooed up her neck and cutting up in curves along both cheeks. Her hair is long and messy, pulled back in a loose ponytail that allows much of it to fall forward around her face. Black, but with hints of dyed purple. Her features are sharp and imposing.

On her forearm is a detailed tattoo of a black cat lost in dark smoke.

But it’s her eyes. 

Those _eyes._

Deeply indigo, bordering on violet, set beneath thick brows and staring at the camera with an intensity that feels like a punch to the gut. 

He _knows_ those eyes.

He’d recognize them anywhere. 

His gaze flickers down to the caption, swallowing hard. “Keith?” He says slowly, voice carefully even. “Is your mom’s name Krolia?”

* * *

“I still can’t believe you found Keith’s _mom,_ ” Pidge says, snapping a picture with her phone before hunching over the picnic table, tapping away. “I’m sending a pic to Allura. She’s gonna be stoked.”

“Yeah,” Lance says absently. He sits beside her on the bench, arms on the table, chin propped up in one hand. He stares across the way to the occupied bench. Where Keith sits with Shiro and Krolia, catching up in private. 

Keith looks… so incredibly _happy_. Lance is pretty sure his cheeks have to be aching by now. His eyes are alight, grin blinding, and both Shiro and Krolia mirror that. They sit on either side of him. Krolia’s arm rests over the back of the bench, close but not quite touching. Protective. 

“I can’t believe Keith’s mom was a cat, too,” Hunk says from the nearby grill, where he’s dutifully preparing food. 

At first, they had thought maybe a good meet up point would be the cafe, but Keith had been anxious and overwhelmed, and they decided to go somewhere more neutral, leaving him with his home to retreat to afterwards. 

Then they thought maybe a coffeeshop, a bar, or a restaurant, but that would be too public. Especially if they wanted to talk about magic. 

So they settled on the park and a picnic. Nice and open. Nice and private. Him, Pidge, and Hunk there for moral support. 

It makes Lance happy to watch them reunite, but there’s also something sharp twisting in his gut. 

“You okay, buddy?” 

Lance blinks, snapping out of his thoughts as he turns to Hunk. His best friend is giving him _that look_. The one where he’s slowly pulling Lance apart, piece by piece, to figure out what’s got him in a funk. 

He smiles, knowing it’ll only slow down the dissection but not stop it. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Pidge says without looking up from her phone. “You’ve been staring at them since we arrived and only given monosyllabic answers.” She glances at him then, gaze just as knowing as Hunk’s but sharper. “Not very Lance-like behavior if you ask me.”

“No one asked you,” he mumbles, eyes drawn back to that distant bench, heart squeezing as Keith tosses back his head and laughs. The look in Krolia’s eyes is achingly fond. He can’t quite see Shiro’s face from here, but he’s pretty sure the big guy had been crying earlier. “Am I not allowed to watch my boyfriend reunite with his family?”

“So you _are_ dating!” Pidge says suddenly, slapping a hand down on the table, making Lance jump.

His gaze snaps back to hers, eyes widening as heat rushes up his neck, burning at the tips of his ears. “I, uh—“ Pidge is smirking at him, smug and triumphant. Even Hunk is grinning. And… you know what? Fuck it. He looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “I… guess we are.”

They haven’t really _talked_ about it. They haven’t used those words _specifically_ , but… Lance can’t deny that it definitely feels and seems like they’re dating. 

If it looks like a duck, right?

“I’m happy for you, buddy.” Hunk’s hand comes down on his shoulder, a solid and grounding weight. Then it squeezes slightly, and Lance closes his eyes, knowing what’s coming next. “But… something _is_ off, right? What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” he says softly, posture slumping. He falls over the table, arms stretched out, forehead against the wood. “I’m just being selfish…”

“Lance!” 

His head snaps up, eyes widening as they hone in on Keith jogging across the field toward them. “Keith?” He’s already scrambling to his feet when Keith reaches him, grabbing his arm and tugging him back towards the bench. Lance stumbles after him.

“Come on. I want you to meet them.” He sounds breathless, pure joy radiating from his very presence. 

Lance is helpless against that smile. 

Keith tugs him to where Krolia and Shiro are waiting, both of them super tall and super imposing. Leave it to Keith to have a family that looks like they could and would kick his ass. He swallows hard, standing up a little straighter, pulling his shoulders back a little, trying not to look like the nervous wreck he is. 

“Lance, this is my mom, Krolia, and my cousin, Shiro,” Keith says, his hand slipping down into Lance’s, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. “This is Lance.” 

He says it simply. Period. End of story. Like they already know who he is. Everything he’s done. Who he is to Keith. Keith doesn’t add any descriptors to his name because his family doesn’t need them. Judging from the looks they give him, they already _know._

And… that’s as flattering as it is terrifying. 

“Um… hi,” he says with a wavering smile, offering a hand. “I’m Lance.” Wow. Real smooth. Not lame at all. 

Shiro shakes his hand, offering a prosthetic that makes Lance hesitate for only a moment before gripping firmly. When Krolia shakes his hand, she’s got a grip like a vice, smile sharp and eyes sharper. 

“We’ve heard a lot about you, Lance,” she says. 

And Lance offers a weak laugh as he pulls his hand back. Totally not leaning closer to Keith. “All good things, I hope.”

“Definitely good things, don’t worry.” Okay, so Shiro’s smile is definitely a lot warmer. Lance can handle this. He can. “We were just telling Keith that he’s welcome to move in with either of us.” 

Oh, oh god, never mind, he can’t handle this. He _can’t._ He freezes, smile feeling fake and plastered to his face. 

Keith squeezes his hand. “And I was just telling them that I’m happy where I am.” He sounds firm and confident, if not mildly exasperated with the conversation. If Lance were to look, he’s certain he’d see Keith rolling his eyes. 

Relief and dread make a strangely nauseating combo. 

Shiro sighs, just as exasperated but infinitely kind. Infinitely warm. Infinitely gentle as he says, “We appreciate all you’ve done for Keith, but we’d hate for him to be a burden anymore—“

“He’s not!” The words stumble out of him, far more frantic than he would’ve liked. He coughs, clearing his throat as he glances at Keith, offering a small, sheepish smile. “He’s definitely not a burden. I like having him around.”

He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He wants Keith to stay.

He thinks Keith should go.

His heart and mind are at war with no end in sight, and his chest is the scar torn battlefield. 

His stomach is a casualty.

His nerves are shot.

“Keith?” Krolia says his name like a question. Like no other words are necessary. Like there’s _so much more_ going on there, but all she needs to do is say his name to communicate it. Hell, maybe she _is_ saying more. Maybe it’s more weird witch magic. Her and Keith definitely seem to be having a silent conversation, staring each other down like a couple of, well… cats. 

Finally, Keith lifts his chin, squeezes his hand, and steps closer, pressing their arms together. “I want to stay with Lance.”

He’s elated. 

He’s full of dread.

He’s torn, and everyone is staring at him, and he kind of wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. 

“Hey, guys! Lunch is ready!”

Thank god for Hunk.

* * *

It takes eight days for the weight of Lance’s guilt to become too much to bear. 

He cracks one evening while they’re curled up on the couch. He’s lying on his back, head propped up against pillows, with Keith nestled between his body and the back of the couch. He’s sprawled out across Lance’s chest, head on his shoulder, legs tangled together. They’re watching a movie, but Lance hasn’t been paying attention. He’s been trying to figure out how to carefully approach this, and ends up just blurting it out instead. 

“I think you should go.”

Keith tenses, slowly lifting his head. His brow furrows, chin tilting in his confusion. “What?”

Lance’s nerves are eating him _alive_. He doesn’t think there’s a single way to do this delicately. At least not when his head is spinning and his heart his aching. “I think you should go with your mom.” 

He doesn’t look any less confused, but now there’s definitely some wariness and worry behind that intense stare. The unblinking and unyielding gaze that feels like he’s trying to pick Lance apart. “What?”

Lance looks away, squirming under those eyes. “She said she was going on a road trip, right? Across the country on her motorcycle? Which, by the way, side note, is fucking _bad ass_. But you said no. And I think you should go.”

Keith relaxes, a soft patience entering his voice as he says, “Lance—“

But he refuses to back down about this. “I mean it.” He swallows hard, turning back to Keith. Lips pursed. Locking eyes with a gaze he hopes will get Keith to take him seriously. “I want you to go. I _need_ you to go.”

Keith’s expression wavers. “It’s… a long trip. I’d be gone for a year.”

Lance can’t hesitate. He won’t. “I know.”

“Lance…” Keith pushes himself up, sitting up and putting distance between them. Lance hates it, but he doesn’t move to follow. Doesn’t break eye contact. “Do you… not want me around anymore?”

He sounds so small. So confused. So _broken_. It tears into Lance’s heart. “No, _no_ , babe, that’s not it. I swear.” He sits up, reaching for Keith and running his fingers through his hair, cupping his jaw and smiling as Keith nuzzles into his palm. 

“What did I do? I can fix it. I promise I’ll be better, Lance, I—“

“ _Keith_.” Lance pulls him forward, pressing their foreheads together hard enough to hurt. With a hand at the back of Keith’s neck, he holds him there. Eyes closed, he sighs. “Keith, you’re _perfect_ , and that’s the _problem_.”

“I… I don’t…?”

Lance groans. How the fuck is he supposed to articulate this? But he owes it to Keith to try. He _needs_ to try. His head drops, hiding his face in the crook of Keith’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around him, holding him as close as he can. An anchor. 

“ _Keith_ , you’ve been a cat for like, _twenty years.”_

“So?”

“So you don’t know how to be human anymore.”

Keith scoffs, amusement leaking in. “Lance, I know how to be human—“

“No, you _don’t,_ ” he snaps, and Keith tenses. And really, that’s all it takes for the flood gates to open and for Lance to babble it out. “You’ve been a cat for _so long_. And then the moment your curse breaks, you’re glued to my side. Don’t get me wrong, seriously, I _love_ having you around. You’re perfect. You’re the most perfect boyfriend ever and everything I could ever want, but that’s the _problem.”_

“That doesn’t sound like a problem.”

“Well, it _is_.” He lifts his head, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a frown. Keith meets it with a scowl of his own. “Keith, you don’t remember what it’s like to be _you.”_

“I do—“

“You _don’t,_ ” Lance sighs, reaching out to cup his face in both hands, offering a small smile. “Because you’ve been spending every moment since your curse broke taking care of _me.”_

“What’s wrong with that?”

“ _Nothing_ , but… but I want _you_ to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy.”

“For now, but what happens when you finally get bored of me?”

“I won’t—“

“When you realize that you have no hobbies. No interests. When you realize you have your whole life ahead of you now, and you’ve never once thought about what to do with it? I don’t want to drag you down, Keith. I don’t want to be a reason for you to not be yourself— to _learn_ about yourself. I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay with me.”

He’s not protesting anymore. Lips pursed tight. That intense gaze meets Lance’s stubborn one, insightful and calculating, trying to see what Lance is trying to say. He’s finally _listening._

Lance sighs, thumbs brushing across sharp cheekbones. God, he loves these cheekbones. “I’m not pushing you away,” he says softly. “I don’t _want_ you to go, but I _need_ you to. I need you to go out, and explore the world, and spend time with your family. I need you to figure out _who you are_.” He surges forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Keith’s lips, loving the way Keith leans after him when he pulls away. He presses their foreheads together, whispering, “And afterwards, once you meet people, and see the world, and be _you_ for a while… if you still… want me?” He swallows hard, voice cracking around the lump in his throat. “If you decide then that you still want me after all… then I’ll welcome you back with open arms and cling so hard you’ll never get me to let go.”

“Lance…” He sounds torn. His hands wrap around Lance, holding him tight, fingers curling into his shirt. 

“I just…” He breathes heavily through his nose. He’s trying to be firm. He has to be. “I _need_ to know, Keith. For sure. I need to make sure you want _me_. You want _this._ And not just because I’m the one who was here when your curse broke. I need you to _choose_ me, not be stuck with me.”

Keith sighs. Long, ragged, and exasperated. He pushes into Lance, toppling them back down onto the couch, crawling on top of him and lying there. His ear is pressed just above Lance’s heart, head tucked under his chin. Lance warps his arms around his waist. 

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbles, fingers curling into Lance’s shirt. “But… okay. If you need this… I’ll go.”

“I do,” he says softly. “For my own peace of mind, I need this. And I really, _really_ do think it’s for the best. I think we’ll be better for it. If… If you decide to come back.”

Keith scoffs, the familiar indignant stubbornness returning. “Of course I’m coming back, you idiot. You’re my home.” 

And Lance wants to believe him. He really does. Wants to believe in _this_ and _them._

But he can’t help the curling ball of doubt congealing in his stomach. The taste of acidic dread on the back of his tongue. He feels like he’s shooting his own happiness in the foot here. Feels like he’s pushing Keith away, and he’ll realize Lance isn’t worth it. Fears Keith will realize he can do so much better and never come back.

But they have to do this.

Lance has to know. 

_Needs_ to know.

For his sake.

For Keith’s.

* * *

Saying goodbye is an entirely terrible affair. 

Keith’s goodbyes to Pidge and Hunk are heartfelt and genuine, but only take a couple minutes each. 

It takes nearly twenty for Keith to pry himself off Lance, and Lance is wholly okay with that because truthfully? He doesn’t want to let go either. 

Thankfully, everyone gives them their space and doesn’t push it. 

He kisses Keith. A lot. Right there on the street. Not graciously, prettily, or subtly. It’s desperate, messy, and flips between lingering and chaste to using far too much tongue than is publicly appropriate. 

He runs his fingers through Keith’s hair, trying to memorize it, loving the way he can feel Keith purr where their chests are pressed together. Keith holds him around the waist, tight and crushing. And if he grabs Lance’s ass a few times? Well, no one faults him or calls him out on it. 

Both of them cry, but Lance remains firm in this decision. He knows it’s the right one. Knows that they’ll be better for it in the long run. 

Hopes that there will be a _them_ to be better at all. 

And when they finally let go and Keith mounts his bike, Lance feels like he can’t breathe. He watches Keith ride off down the street alongside his mom, feeling his heart tear out of his chest with them. 

Pidge and Hunk tell him to take the day off, running the cafe on their own. He curls up on the couch with one of Keith’s shirts pressed to his nose, sobbing like a bitch as he aimlessly binges Netflix. 

At the end of the day, Pidge and Hunk join him. Keep him company. But even with their presence, the apartment feels entirely too empty.

* * *

The first couple weeks are hard, but Lance passes through them in a sort of daze-like state. 

The next few weeks are harder, as reality starts to set in.

Keith is gone, and it’s exactly what he asked for, but he feels like there’s a gaping hole in his chest that constant aches with a dull pulsing pain. 

He feels like he can never get a full breath. Every smile feels brittle and stale. Everything feels numb. His movements feel sluggish. He’s not sleeping, his skin is suffering, and he knows it shows. 

When Hunk and Pidge look at him with those worried, careful eyes, he laughs it off. Jokes that maybe they should turn this into a zombie cat cafe. 

The joke doesn’t land.

His laugh sounds hollow and forced.

Pidge and Hunk look more pitying than worried.

He hates it, but there’s not much he can do but ride this out. He asked for it, after all.

* * *

In the beginning, Keith calls him most nights. Tells him about his day. About the things he’s seen. About the things he’s learned. About how him and his mom are connecting. 

He sounds happy. He sounds exhilarated. He sounds _alive._

That’s when Lance feels the most alive, too. When he hears Keith laugh. 

It makes him happy. It aches something fierce. He feels grounded in those moments, but he also feels the loneliest he’s ever been. It’s a doubled edged sword. Comforting and painful. It’s complicated. 

And when Keith says he misses him, Lance feels the tears start to burn. 

When Lance whispers that he misses Keith, too, his voice is hoarse. 

When they hang up for the night, Lance feels hollow and miserable. 

But he’ll be alright. He asked for this.

* * *

The calls become less frequent. More spaced out between days. Catching Lance at odd hours and never lasting for long. Lance can’t blame him. He’s on a road trip, and there’s a lot to do, a lot to see. 

Keith always sounds happy and breathless when he hears Lance’s voice and that keeps Lance going. 

The nights without hearing from Keith are hard, but he’s okay.

He’ll be okay.

* * *

Months pass before the ache dulls, but it does eventually. It becomes more manageable. He’s able to function again. He’s able to smile and have it feel genuine. He’s able to _breathe._

He still gets excited when he gets a call from Keith, but now he’s able to enjoy it without feeling miserable afterwards. 

He’s… he’s doing alright.

* * *

His apartment feels empty without Keith, both as human and as Red. There’s only so much of it Lance can take before he goes a little crazy. He’s never liked being alone, even before he met Keith. That’s why he adopted Red to begin with.

So he finally adopts Blue. 

It’s been a long time coming, really. She was his first, and he probably should have adopted her first. But he had been stubborn about _not_ playing favorites until Red came into his life and broke that little rule. 

But now Blue lives with him. She’s not as quirky as Keith is, but she’s cuddly and affectionate, and that’s all he can really ask for.

He’s starting to sleep again.

He’s no longer having nightmares. 

He’s… okay. He’s actually okay.

* * *

They get more cats, as they always seem to do, but Lance doesn’t let any of them be named Red. Keith is, and forever will be, the only Red.

They expand, taking over the empty space next door. Tear down some walls. Build new living spaces. Expand the back room where the cats can get some alone time. 

They hire some new employees, and Shiro is one of them. From what Lance has learned, he has some lingering PTSD and being around the cats really calms him. It’s a nice job, and they all love Shiro. 

They get some new witch outfits. They host some events. 

Allura brings in new lines of drinks. She works with Hunk to create new pastry creations using some of her enchanted herbs and ingredients. 

It’s magical.

It’s wonderful.

It’s everything Lance has ever wanted. 

He’s… happy.

* * *

Hunk and Shay get engaged one summer’s day.

They throw a party. They spend all night laughing and drinking with friends. Shiro and Adam join them. They’ve become a pretty permanent fixture in their little group. Allura’s in town. She does stupid little magic tricks that enrapture all of them, even though Lance is sure they’re barely more than child’s play for her. 

Romelle is there, and there’s no lingering resentment. She listens to Lance gush about Keith— which he can do now without feeling like his chest is caving in on itself— and she seems genuinely happy for him.

They have their first summer bonfire that night, and Lance even facetimes Keith in for a while.

He no longer feels so alone.

* * *

A year without Keith comes and goes. 

Keith calls him on the day, and they talk as usual. He says he misses Lance, and Lance says he misses him, too. But he’s still far away. So far. Too far. And he says nothing about coming back anytime soon. 

That’s fine.

It’s fine.

Lance is… surprisingly fine. Lonely. A little disheartened. But… he’s fine.

* * *

Adam and Shiro are throwing a Halloween party, and Lance is late. But he knew he’d be late, so he’s not very hung up on that fact. He let Pidge and Hunk leave early to prepare and offered to close up the cafe on his own. 

So a couple hours after the party has already begun, the cats are fed and taken care of, the cafe alarms are locked and set, and Lance walks through the now familiar home of Shiro and Adam. 

It’s crowded. There are a lot more people here than their little group of friends. All of Shiro and Adam’s friends from where ever else. All in costume. All with cups in hand. It’s not a college rager. _Yeah_ , alcohol is available, but there’s a maturity about this party. 

People gathered in rooms. Talking animatedly. Some play games. Outside, there’s a fire pit going, and people gather in lawn chairs. Adam mans the grill, while Shiro weaves through everyone, chatting to all his guests. 

It’s crowded, but cozy. 

“Are you serious?” Pidge deadpans, and he turns around to find her giving him a flat stare, one eyebrow raised. She’s dressed as a robot, with an assortment of light up parts that’s honestly pretty impressive.

“What?” He asks innocently, grabbing a beer from the cooler. He bends over at the waist, glancing over his shoulder and fluttering his lashes. 

Pidge is not at all amused. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We dress like witches _for work_ , and then you come to a _party_ dressed like a witch _again?”_

Lance scoffs, straightening and twisting off the cap before taking a sip of his beer. He tosses Pidge one, and she takes it without breaking her scowl. “First of all, it’s not like I had a lot of time to get a costume prepped. I was at work until like thirty minutes ago. Second of all,” He puts a hand on his hip, cocking it out to the side as he smirks. “I don’t get to dress like a _sexy_ witch at work.”

He’s wearing a black dress with a tattered skirt, ribbons falling around his thighs and just barely covering the short booty shorts he’s got on for good measure. The top of the dress clings to his trim waist and broad chest, with just a couple of thin straps covering his otherwise bare shoulders. The sleeves are long and flared, which are honestly just fun.

He’s also wearing fishnet tights and ankle boots because he has legs that go on for _days_ , and he loves getting to show them off, okay?

Oh, and the giant pointed witch hat tops it off.

“What?” He says when Pidge just keeps giving him that flat stare. His posture deflates a little, lip sticking out in a pout. “I thought it was funny.”

“Whatever,” Pidge sighs, taking a sip of her beer before spinning on her heel and walking away. “He’s gonna love it.”

“What?” Lance blinks, following after her as she weaves through people, headed through the house. “What’s that supposed to mean? Hunk? He already knows. He’s the one who helped me find the dress in my size.”

“Yeah, sure, _Hunk_. That’s totally who I meant.”

“Your tone suggests otherwise. What’re you up to?”

“Me? Nothing.” She glances over her shoulder, lips curved into a cheshire smirk, eyes alight with mischief. “I’m just leading you down this particular hallway so he can surprise you.”

“What—“

His voice is choked off in a surprised gasp as an arm suddenly wraps around his waist, yanking him backwards. He finds himself pressed up against a flat, hard chest. Wind knocked out of him. Body going tense at the sudden touch. There’s hot breath caressing the back of his neck, and the other hand is running along his side, over his hip, coming to rest on his thigh.

He’s about two seconds from fucking _throwing down_ when he hears a soft chuckle and a voice that’s low, rough, and entirely too familiar. 

A voice he hasn’t heard in person in over a year.

“You look good…” His hand ghosts across Lance’s thigh, shifting the tendrils of his tattered skirt out of the way to hook a fingernail— claw?— under one of the threads of his fishnets. “I like these.”

Lance lets out a shaky breath and _melts_. Goes straight up boneless. Sags backwards as his knees threaten to give out. Leaning entirely on that hard, sturdy chest for support. One hand covers the one on his thigh, weaving their fingers together and squeezing. His other goes behind him, finding soft hair and digging deep, holding on for dear life. 

“Keith…” He sighs, voice trailing off like a whine, cracking on the end as lips press against his bare shoulder. His eyes flutter closed, heart hammering against his chest. “Please tell me it’s really you and I’m not in a sugar induced fever dream.”

“It’s really me,” he chuckles, tilting his head to trace the tip of his nose along the curve of Lance’s shoulder, up his neck to press a kiss behind his ear. 

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna be back,” Lance says, opening his eyes and turning. Keith’s hold on him shifts, but he doesn’t let go, and Lance doesn’t move far away. He puts his hands on Keith’s chest, leaning back far enough to get a good look at him.

It’s him. It’s _really him_. In the flesh. Just as perfect and beautiful as Lance remembers. Not much has changed about him. His hair is a little longer, but otherwise, he’s physically the same.

But… there’s still something _different._

It’s something that shows in his eyes. In the relaxed and confident tilt of his smile. In his posture. In the way he holds Lance. He seems… more at ease with himself. More in control. He’s always been confident, but this is something _more._

He no longer seems like the wary, affectionate cat-turned-man that Lance used to know.

Now he feels like, well… _Keith._

And it makes Lance’s insides flutter, twisting in a sudden burst of nerves and sparking excitement. 

Keith looks far more comfortable in his own skin, and he’s looking at Lance like he’s about to eat him alive. 

His costume doesn’t help on that front. Two black cat ears stick up from his hair at the top of his head, a black tail swishing behind him. Two little fangs peek out as he smiles. His pupils look more slitted than they should, and a little too violet to be normal. 

All of it looks entirely too real to be purely a costume, and all of it makes him look exceedingly predatory as his gaze looks Lance up and down.

“I wanted to surprise you.” His smirk is deadly. His dark, lidded gaze is sinful. He leans forward to press his forehead to Lance’s, nudging their noses together, whispering a soft and heated, “Surprise.”

Lance’s hands slide up Keith’s chest, up his neck, carding through his hair until he reaches those cat ears. They’re silky to the touch and definitely attached to his head. “Holy shit, they’re real,” he whispers. 

Keith hums, eyes falling shut and tail flicking as Lance scratches at the base of his ears. “Seemed like an easy costume.” His hands slide down the curve of Lance’s back, fitting boldly, snugly, and possessively over the curve of his ass. “I can be your familiar.”

Lance exhales a short laugh. “Do familiars usually grope their witches?”

Keith opens his eyes, amusement crinkling their edges, smile mischievous and so _so vibrant._

Before he can say anything, however, Pidge is shouting from down the hall. “Enough with the gross stuff! Adam just finished food, so come join the party!”

Lance pouts at her, but Keith chuckles. He steps back, taking Lance’s hand— he had definitely not been imagining the claws. Keith’s nails are dark and curled and sharp. “Come on.”

Lance drags his feet, but otherwise lets Keith pull him down the hallway. “What if I want some privacy to welcome you back?” 

Keith glances over his shoulder, eyes lidded and mischievous. “You can do whatever you want to me later. When you take me home.”

Lance’s chest squeezes, butterflies going crazy as his pulse races through his veins. Keith says it with absolute confidence, bordering on cocky. There’s no doubt in his mind that Lance will take him home tonight. 

And fuck, he’s _right._

* * *

Lance is _reeling._

He hadn’t been expecting _Keith_ to be here— to be _home_. And yet here he is. Casual. Confident. Smiling. Slotting right back into their friend group and conversation like he never left. Lance hadn’t been prepared for it _at all_ , and even hours later, he can still barely wrap his head around it.

His pulse hasn’t once slowed down, and the butterflies are wreaking havoc in his stomach. And his heart? _God_ , his _heart._ It can’t catch a breath. Constantly skipping beats, going into overdrive, catching in his throat, squeezing, _aching._

He’s a goddamn _wreck._

And a lot of that has to do with the fact that they haven’t had a chance to _talk._

Lance still has _no idea_ what _any_ of this means for them. For him and Keith. He assumes good things— wants to _believe_ in good things— because Keith is _here_ and seems affectionate. But until they _talk_ about it, he’s gonna have doubts. He can’t fully _enjoy_ this until he hears the conclusion Keith has come to. 

Too bad Keith seems to be avoiding being alone with Lance, and Lance is too fucking nervous to push it himself. 

So… he just… tries to enjoy the party. 

Which, not too hard. Yeah, he’s got a lot going on in his head and in his heart, but the party is pretty enjoyable nonetheless. He’s with his friends _and_ Keith. They’re all in costume. They’re all having fun. Good food. Good company. All that. 

And Keith. _Keith_. He won’t stop touching Lance. He doesn’t think a single moment passes— aside from bathroom breaks— where Keith isn’t touching him. Holding his hand. An arm wrapped around his waist. A hand at his hip, on his thigh, against his back. 

Lance is, honestly, not much better. He finds himself constantly running his fingers along Keith’s arm, propping himself on his shoulder, turning to laugh into his arm. He pets Keith’s hair like he used to, marveling at how it still makes Keith melt. He plays with his cat ears because, really, what a neat trick. He toys with his tail. 

At some point, their little gang finds spots in lawn chairs around the fire pit. Lance ends up in Keith’s lap, Keith’s arm around his waist and Lance’s around Keith’s shoulders. It’s comfortable. It’s familiar. It’s perfect.

But they still haven’t talked.

And they still haven’t kissed. 

Even with Lance sneaking shy kisses against Keith’s temple and Keith boldly pressing his lips to Lance’s neck, they still don’t kiss. Not really. When Lance gets a couple of beers in and feels a little more brave, he tries, but Keith turns away so his lips meet cheek. 

When Lance looks disheartened and embarrassed after that, Keith nuzzles into his neck, pressing lips behind his ear and whispering, “Not yet.”

So Lance holds onto that. 

_Not yet._

It whispers excitement through his veins. Raises goosebumps as anticipation sends shivers down his spine. He clings to that for the rest of the night. _Not yet_. Implying there will be a _now_. And Lance is very much looking forward to that _now._

As the night starts to wind down, Lance’s patience finally snaps.

Keith has been tracing the patterns of his fishnets on his thigh with a single claw for the past hour, occasionally moving more to his inner thigh and then up under his skirt, and it’s been driving him up a _wall._

So his patience snaps.

They say goodbye to their friends— who fucking smirk as they leave with these knowing, amused looks, the assholes. He calls them an Uber— which takes entirely too long to show up. And he sits in the front seat on the way home because, one, he needs time to cool down, and two, he doesn’t trust how handsy Keith has become. 

The entire drive, he can feel Keith’s eyes on him, heated against his skin.

* * *

With all the touching and heated stares, Lance is expecting Keith to jump him the moment they walk through the door. That, however, doesn’t happen. 

Instead, the moment Lance unlocks the door, Keith is placing a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to step through first. And Lance is left standing in the entryway, closing and locking the door behind him, smiling until his cheeks ache as he fondly watches Keith prowl around the apartment, searching it with brows pinched and expression far too serious. 

Some things never change, and Lance finds it endlessly endearing. 

“No intruders?” He asks as he kicks off his boots.

Keith doesn’t notice the amusement in his voice, answering with an honest, “No.”

“Well, that’s good, wouldn’t want anyone to interrupt us— _Keith!_ ” Lance yelps as Keith grabs him around the waist and unceremoniously tosses him over his shoulder. He’s left stunned, bent over Keith’s shoulder, as Keith walks them toward the bedroom. 

He’s caught between shock, marveling at Keith’s strength, and facing the heat that surges through him at being manhandled. 

When he finally does come back to himself, he kicks his legs weakly, slapping at Keith’s back. “What the fuck, man?”

Keith’s only answer is a deep, rumbling chuckle that Lance can _feel_ vibrate through him. And then Keith is tossing him on the bed, wind knocked out of him as he bounces. 

He’s splayed out on his back as Keith looms over him, silhouetted and shadowed by the hallway light spilling in behind him. Cat ears perked forward. Eyes glowing faint violet. Tail flicking behind him. 

He stares down at Lance, tall and proud, blinking slowly. 

He’s watchful and predatory. Every ounce of his body language and posture scream predator. A cat playing with a mouse. And yet Lance feels no fear. Nothing but excitement and bubbly anticipation surge through him, setting his nerves alight and colliding in a raging heat low in his gut. 

He scrambles backwards as Keith leans forward, placing a knee on the edge of the bed before falling forward onto his hands. Lance moves back until he reaches the pillows, propped up on his elbows, swallowing hard as Keith crawls after him. 

“I did as you asked,” he says, voice low and rough, sending shivers down Lance’s spine. “I left. I traveled. I saw. I experienced.” 

He comes to a stop over Lance. Hands on either side of his shoulders. Straddling one of Lance’s thighs and pressing a knee up between his legs, pushing the skirt up, causing Lance to instinctually spread his thighs. 

Keith doesn’t look away. Captures him wholly and fully. Refusing to let Lance break eye contact. 

“My name is Keith Kogane,” he says, voice gaining strength, gaining confidence, but staying low and controlled. “I’m a witch. I can transform into a cat. Twenty one years ago, I was cursed to stay in that cat form until you and Allura broke that curse.”

He lowers himself slowly. Pressing his body against Lance’s inch by agonizing inch. Lance lets himself drop to the bed, hands finding Keith’s arms and holding on like an anchor. He props himself up on his elbows over Lance, face hovering just out of reach. 

He rolls his hips slowly, in a long and filthy grind, smirking when Lance’s body tenses, head tossing back with a soft gasp. 

“I like motorcycles. I like fixing things. I like cats, but I love dogs. I prefer coffee in the morning but tea in the afternoon. I love spicy food, but I have a low tolerance. I prefer sunrises to sunsets. I can’t swim. I prefer being too cold to too hot. I think romance movies are boring and action movies are overrated, but I’d gladly watch both of them with you. I like silence, but I also like your voice. My mom and I can be extremely awkward with each other when there’s not something to do to keep us occupied or to talk about. She likes embarrassing me, and I don’t mind because it means she’s around. I like staying up late and sleeping in. I like the open road and the feeling of wind in my hair. I like cooking, but only when there’s someone to cook for. I’m not very good with people, but I love animals. I prefer blueberry syrup on my pancakes, and barbecue sauce on my burgers. I like going fast, the thrill of it, but thoughts of you keep me from being too reckless. I like reading, but I’m usually too impatient. I like working with my hands. I like helping others more than I like helping myself.”

He sighs, shifting his weight to one elbow so he can reach up with his other hand and cup Lance’s jaw. His thumb brushes across his cheek, but all Lance can do is stare. Wide eyed. Lips parted. It’s the most he’s ever heard Keith speak, and he’s still processing. 

Keith’s grip on him shifts. The thumb moves down to his mouth, pressing a sharp claw against his bottom lip. His gaze travels down with it, dark and heated. Lips pulling into a small smirk. 

“I have a hard time dealing with my emotions. I tend to snap at people, lash out, and pull away from others. But one thing I’ve _never_ questioned is how I feel about you.” He eyes lift, once more capturing Lance’s. His voice is no more than a hushed whisper, hinging on desperate, firm with stubbornness. “I _know_ who I am, Lance. I know who I am, how I feel, and what I want.” His head falls forward, pressing their foreheads together. He sighs, the words slipping out with it, “And I want _you_.”

He’s _not_ choking back a sob. He’s _not_. He _refuses_. He swallows around the lump in his throat, hands moving up Keith’s arms to sink into his hair, holding him close. “ _Keith…_ ” Okay, so maybe his voice is wavering a _little._

“I want you, Lance,” he whispers. “I’ve always known that, but I did what you asked. I came back. And now I want to _stay_.” For the first time, uncertainty begins to creep into his features, brows furrowing and lips pursing as he asks softly, “Can I stay?”

And really, how the fuck is Lance supposed to say no to that?

He pulls Keith down into a hungry kiss, bordering on desperate as he clutches at Keith, moaning as Keith licks into his mouth. Fangs catch on his lips, and he whines. Keith grinds down against him, and Lance eagerly rolls his hips back. 

When he breaks the kiss to breathe, they’re both panting, chests pressing together with every breath. Keith can’t quite stop his hips, still grinding against Lance in these absentminded little rolls that build the heat in Lance’s gut. 

Keith looks _wrecked_. Hair messy. Cheeks flushes. Eyes dark and clouded with lust. Lips dark and swollen, glistening in the light spilling in from the hallway. He’s beautiful. He’s barely clinging to his sanity, desperation in the way he whines when he leans in once more and Lance holds him away with a hand at his chest. 

And Lance can’t help the bubble of pride that _he’s_ the one to make Keith look like _that._

Keith looks at him questioningly, making a soft curious sound. Lance just smiles, reaching between them to cup Keith’s face, gently smoothing out his features until his eyes flutter closed. “Welcome home, Keith,” Lance whispers, a small smile on his lips as Keith’s eyes snap back open. 

He ducks down, and Lance arches his back, head tossed to the side to give Keith room as he nips at the sensitive skin under his jaw, mouthing hungrily at his neck. He chuckles, fingers digging into Keith’s hair, gasping and hips bucking as Keith sucks a dark mark into his skin.

“Welcome home, baby boy,” he whispers, soft and breathy, light chuckle shifting to a moan as Keith’s hips grind against his own. He holds on tight, clinging as Keith’s teeth bite down at the juncture of his shoulder, hips snapping forward at a rough and brutal pace, desperate and needy sounds escaping his lips. “Now that you’re back, I’m never letting you go again.”

“Lance…” He breathes, and Lance smiles, pressing his lips as close to Keith’s ear as he can reach.

“You like that? Wanna be my baby boy forever?” He asks, hushed and deep, pleased when Keith groans. 

“ _Lance…”_

When Keith kisses him again, there’s nothing soft about it, but there’s still a gentleness beneath the way he devours Lance’s mouth. A reverence. As if Lance is something special, something to protect, even as he threatens to tear him apart with his lips alone. 

It’s all Lance can do to take it. To lie back and let Keith pick him apart, piece by piece. To give back as good as he gets. To gently take Keith’s own shattered pieces so they can build each other back up, better, stronger, _together._

Because this thing igniting between them.

It’s so much.

It’s _too much._

It’s overwhelming.

It’s exhilarating.

It’s _magic._

It sparks across his skin, sizzling with heat and fraying nerves, as Keith’s mouth moves away from his. As those sinful lips trail along his jaw and down over his neck. Sharp fangs nip at his throat, playful but with a _bite_. A bite of something heated. Something _dangerous_. A predatory desperation barely contained. 

Lance arches, head pushing into the pillows and fingers weaving through Keith’s hair. Squeezing tight and tugging at the roots, earning a soft, rumbling growl that vibrates from Keith’s throat. Holding him close as teeth and lips mark up his collarbones. 

“So pretty,” Keith whispers, breath hot against his skin. His lips trail along the low hem of Lance’s dress, where lace presses against the top swell of his pecs. He moves across Lance’s chest, lightly dragging his fangs against taut flesh and nipping at his shoulder when he reaches it. “All marked up. All _mine.”_

His hands find their way to Lance’s hips, large and rough. Palms hot and fingers long and curled. The tips of his claws bite into soft skin, not enough to pierce but enough to send a shiver up Lance’s spine. 

Keith shifts, shoulders rolling with predatory grace as he moves his body between Lance’s thighs, using his own to nudge Lance’s legs further apart. Not that he needs the direction. He opens them willingly— _eagerly_ — lifting them to press in at Keith’s hips as those devilish hands slide up his thighs, to the swell of his ass.

One hand comes to rest on his hip beneath the tattered, lacy fabric of his skirt, thumb pressed to his hipbone. The other slides up his stomach, up his chest, coming to rest on his sternum, right over his heart. 

“I missed you…” Keith hums, voice nearly a purr as he slides his lips along the curve of Lance’s shoulder. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t wait to come home.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Lance breathes, broken and hoarse. Half-choked with the threat of a sob, but he _refuses_ to cry. He’s not going to _cry_. He _won’t._

“How much do you like this dress?” Keith asks, one claw tapping at the fabric stretched taut across his chest, catching on the lace. 

Lance meets his gaze. His pupils slitted but blown wide. Swallowing the dim glow of his violet irises. The cat ears atop his head are perked forward, eager and attentive. Behind him, his tail swishes back and forth. Patient. Stalking. Simmering with energy as that singular claw continues to pluck at the front of his dress. 

The smirk on his lips is deadly. 

Eyes lidded and hungry. 

“I—“ Lance swallows thickly, tongue slipping out to wet his lips. He doesn’t miss the way Keith’s eyes snap to the motion, tail flicking behind him. His body stills, poised and tense where his weight is settled atop of him. “I can buy a new one.”

The only warning he gets is the slow, salacious smile that curves Keith’s lips and the mischievous gleam of his fangs. 

Then there’s a sharp tug at the cloth and the loud sound of _ripping_ as Keith digs his claws in and _shreds_ the fabric. 

Lance inhales a sharp breath, looking down at the front of his dress. It’s torn from the neckline, down the center, to the bottom of his ribs. Lace and silky black fabric in tatters from Keith’s claws, either side folding back expose his chest. A shiver runs through him as cool air rushes in.

But then Keith is there. Diving forward. His tongue is rough and smooth all at once as he _drags_ it across Lance’s chest, stopping as it slides across a nipple, encouraging it to harden before sucking it into his mouth. 

Lance gasps, fingers tightening in Keith’s hair as his back arches, pressing his body more firmly against Keith’s. Firm and solid. Heavy as he pins Lance to the mattress. The hard length of his cock presses against Lance’s hip, eager and hot where Keith’s body makes these small, involuntary ruts, chasing the friction like a man possessed. 

He lathers Lance’s chest in attention, mercilessly sucking and biting at sensitive flesh. Lance writhes beneath him, breath hitching and hips bucking as Keith flicks his tongue over the pebbled peak of his nipple before taking it gently between his teeth. 

It’s so much— _too much_ — and right when Lance feels himself shifting onto the edge of overstimulation, Keith drags his lips across Lance’s chest, giving his other one the same— if not more— attention.

“ _K-Keith.”_

“Hmmm?” Keith hums, pleased to continue, lightly biting the flesh of Lance’s pec. His hands are palming the globes of his ass, nails biting into thick flesh. His grip pulls Lance’s hips up as he continues to rut against him, pushing Lance’s shoulders deeper into the pillows at the head of his bed. 

He curses the skin tight shorts he chose to wear beneath his dress. While practical at the time, now they do nothing but keep him from feeling the calloused heat of Keith’s hands. 

“ _P-please.”_

“Please, what?” Keith mutters as he pulls off his nipple. He rests his chin against Lance’s chest, smirking up at him as his tongue peeks out to flick against it. 

Lance’s throat feels thick. His mouth dry. He doesn’t trust his voice to form words, so instead he whines. Pitched and needy. Using his grip on Keith’s hair to attempt to push him downward. 

He, of course, doesn’t budge. Holds his ground for at least a moment just to clue Lance into the fact that he’s stronger. As if Lance could forget that when Keith _just_ picked him up and tossed him onto the bed like he weighed nothing. 

But then he relents, letting Lance guide him down the length of his body, holding eye contact all the while. That knowing little smirk curling at his lips. He slides down the bed, shifting his body back and forth in calculated, graceful movements, until he’s nestled between Lance’s thighs. 

Keith makes himself comfortable, sprawled out on his stomach. Tail idly swishing back and forth behind him. He slips his hands beneath the strips of cloth that makes up the skirt of the dress, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Lance’s shorts. He pulls them off with little fanfare, tossing them haphazardly to the floor. Then he gently— but with a firm grip— guides Lance’s thighs over his shoulders.

Holding eye-contact, gaze lidded and pupils blown wide, he blinks slowly. Purposefully. It’s such a simple thing, but it softens the hunger in his gaze. Tempers the heat of his desire. Wraps Lance’s heart in a gentle warmth that makes him feel safe. Protected. _Trusted._

The tension that’s built up in his body oozes out of him, leaving him melting into the mattress. His grip on Keith’s hair loosens, and he runs his fingers through the silky soft strands, teasing a fingertip along the base of his ears. 

He smiles. 

Blinks back, nice and slow. 

Brushes Keith’s hair back from his forehead, heart stumbling over itself when Keith nuzzles into his palm. 

And then he’s leaning forward, changing the direction of the nuzzle until his face is pressed to Lance’s inner thigh. Teasing his nose along it before following it with his lips. Pressing open mouthed kisses and playful nips to the wide windows of skin in the fishnet fabric. 

He takes his time moving to where Lance wants him, stubbornly ignoring Lance’s impatient hands trying to tug him along. Humming and smirking in amusement. Taking his time to leave marks all over Lance’s inner thigh.

And then, when he finally— _finally_ — moves to the center, he merely ghosts his lips over the hard, aching bulge of Lance’s cock to his other thigh, giving it the same treatment as the first.

“You’re a _tease_ ,” Lance hisses, groaning in both pleasure and irritation as Keith mouths at his cock, soaking through the thin material of the tights. It’s close— _so close_ — to what he wants, but it’s not _enough._

“And _you’re_ impatient,” Keith hums, the rumble of his voice vibrating against his cock.

Lance whines. “Come _oooon_ , Keith!” 

His hands slide up Lance’s thighs, dragging the tattered skirt up and batting away the strips that remain in his way. His fingers dip into the waistband of his tights but pause. 

Keith’s eyes narrow for a second in thought, flicking upward to meet Lance’s gaze. “And how do you feel about these tights?” He asks in a low whisper. 

Lance’s lips twitch into a small smile. “I can replace them.”

The words have barely rolled off his tongue before Keith’s claws are getting to work. Tearing through the solid fabric at the top of the tights. Ripping them to shreds and impatiently pushing them away as Lance’s cock springs free. 

Fingers immediately wrap around the base, Keith’s breath hot on the swollen head. Lance tenses, thighs squeezing around Keith’s head and back arching— 

Only to be left with nearly _nothing_ as all Keith does is cover his shaft with light little _barely there_ kitten licks. 

It feels good, don’t get him wrong, but it’s not nearly _enough_. And he’s _definitely_ doing it to be a goddamn _tease_. Lance can see it in the way his lips curl into an evil little smirk, eyes dancing with laughter as he gazes up the length of Lance’s body. 

“ _Keith_ ,” Lance groans, in a strange sort of pleased irritation. 

But Keith doesn’t stop. Just moves up to lick lightly at the head, tip of his tongue sliding along the slit, lapping up beads of precum. Lance wiggles and writhes beneath him, but Keith’s hands hold him firmly to the mattress, keeping him from bucking upward. 

He whines, but Keith doesn’t relent. He seems perfectly satisfied to slowly and mercilessly drive Lance _crazy._

But Lance isn’t above playing dirty.

“Keith,” he whispers, breathy and low. He brushes his fingers through Keith’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He arches his back and tilts his head, showing off the marks littering his chest and neck. “Baby boy, _please.”_

He knows the words hit home when Keith tenses, albeit briefly. Just goes stiff for a moment, tail flicking before going still. 

He blinks, and then smiles. “Remember what I said, Lance.” He adjusts his positioning, moving up on his elbows. He pauses, looking predatory and smug, merely dragging out the moment to make Lance sweat. And it _works_ , breath held and quivering. “I’ll _always_ take care of you.”

And, while holding eye-contact, he sinks down on Lance’s cock, devouring the entirety of his length in that hot, wet mouth, lips tight to swollen flesh. 

Lance gasps, one leg kicking out and head thrown back into the pillows as Keith’s nose buries in his soft, brown curls, lips wrapped around the base. Eyes squeezed shut, one hand tightens in Keith’s hair while the other flies to grip the sheets at his side. A broken moan is ripped from him as Keith lifts his head before bobbing back down, and this time Lance _feels_ himself hit the back of Keith’s throat. 

Distantly, he has the sense of mind to be grateful that Keith seems to have retracted his fangs, but it’s a thought that doesn’t stay on his mind for long. 

Not when Keith wastes no time taking him apart. 

For as much as Keith likes drawing things out, teasing him slowly and cruelly, he has just as much fervor when he decides it’s time to speed things up. 

His pace is _relentless_. Pulling up the length of Lance’s cock before sinking back down to the base far too quickly and far too soon. His tongue drags up the underside, swirling over the head before he slides back down. 

Eyes closed. Head bobbing. Even when giving head, every movement he makes is _graceful_. Purposeful and confident. Elegant and smooth. 

Not that Lance has much time to admire it when he’s currently _writhing_. One hand in Keith’s hair— which he doesn’t seem to mind even when Lance _knows_ he has to be tugging hard— while the other flails across the sheets. He gasps. Whines. _Groans_ as his back arches. His legs squeeze Keith’s head, toes curling over his back, but Keith holds his hands firmly to the mattress—

And then those hands are on his thighs, pushing them away and up— towards his chest— his hips rolling off the mattress and legs spread wide— and Keith pops off his cock in order to lick down over his balls— between his cheeks— the flat of his tongue licking firmly over his hole—

Lance inhales sharply, crying out a startled, “ _Fuck!_ ” Both of his hands fly above his head, grabbing at his pillows and holding on for dear life. 

Keith is _enthusiastic_ — No, scratch that. He’s _brutal_ as he eats Lance’s ass. His hold on Lance’s legs is firm and unyielding, holding his legs up and spread, nearly bending Lance in _half_ with his eagerness to get _closer_ and _deeper._

Lance’s neck is at an odd angle. The angle of his hips off the bed pushes his shoulders uncomfortably into the mattress, but he doesn’t even _care_. Not when Keith’s tongue is long, wet, and unbelievably _dexterous_ as it laves over his hole, pushing past his rim to penetrate far deeper than Lance had thought possible. 

It’s far more intense than Lance would have thought possible. Keith eats him out with single-minded focus. Lance had thought that being on the receiving end of Keith’s attentive gaze was overwhelming, but being on the receiving end of his attending _tongue_ is _dizzying._

He’s babbling, and he knows it. Can feel his voice vibrating in his throat and feels the words forming on his lips. But he’s not sure what he’s saying. Can’t pay attention to it when all he can focus on is Keith’s tongue. Doesn’t know if he’s saying actual words, or if it’s just broken, aborted sentences and hoarse curses. He’s pretty sure _Keith_ and _fuck_ and _baby_ make plenty of appearances.

He’s certain if he could see himself, he’d be embarrassed, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind. 

In fact, Keith is _barely_ paying attention himself. He’s so focused on eating out Lance’s ass that Lance is pretty sure the benefit of it is more for _him_ than it is for _Lance._

And then he notices Keith plunging his tongue _deeper_ , as if to stretch him with that alone, and Lance knows he has to end this sweet torture. 

“Keith,” he says, voice breathy and cracking. He swallows hard, trying again. “ _Keith_.” And when he doesn’t listen or slow at all, Lance swats at his head with his foot. “Stretch me out properly with some _lube_ , you goddamn _animal_.”

And finally— _finally_ — Keith comes up for air. Saliva glistening around his mouth and down his chin. He looks dazed, pupils so blown his eyes look black. He licks his lips, gaze hungry. It makes Lance shiver. 

He’s also positive that Keith has barely comprehended what he said, and _definitely_ needs some direction to snap out of whatever haze he’s in. “Over there,” he says, flinging a hand out and pointing to his bedside table. “In the top drawer.”

Keith blinks, slow and measured, and Lance can see the gears turning. He blinks again, shaking his head as he comes back to himself. He lets go of Lance’s legs, lowering him back to the mattress. 

Lance finally gets a moment to simply _breathe_ as Keith crawls across him to the edge of the bed, opening the drawer and reaching inside.

An amused hum draws his attention, and he glances over to find Keith brandishing the nearly empty bottle of lube. 

“Been busy?” He asks, lips curled into a sly smirk, eyes crinkled in amusement. 

“Shut up.” Lance lashes out with his arm, swatting at Keith half-heartedly. “I missed you, okay?” 

Keith blinks, smirk fading as he tilts his head. “You thought of me?”

He sees no reason to lie, so he swallows his pride and the embarrassment that burns at the tips of his ears, grumbling a soft, “Every time.”

And any ounce of shame he felt evaporates in the face of Keith’s bright, toothy grin. He scrambles back between Lance’s legs, settling in comfortably and pulling Lance’s legs around his hips. 

“You better retract your claws,” Lance says, watching Keith pour lube over his fingers. 

Keith pauses, blinking at him for a moment before looking to his own hand with a frown. He takes a deep, shaky breath, eyes closing briefly. It doesn’t happen all at once, nor does it happen quickly. It’s obvious that it takes concentration to do— perhaps because he’s all keyed up, which Lance feels a trickle of pride in— but his sharp, dark nails eventually pull back to more human rounded blunt ends. 

Lance smirks, and Keith pouts. But he only has a moment to enjoy that adorable little display between the slick probing of his fingers in-between Lance’s cheeks. 

He doesn’t take his time, as he had with his tongue. Nor does he go at it with a single minded intensity. He stretches Lance gently and methodically, making sure he’s adjusted to each finger before adding another. 

All the while, his other hand rubs up and down Lance’s thigh, still clad in fishnets. “I thought of you, too.” Keith’s voice is a deep purr, lidded gaze flickering between where his fingers slip inside him and his face. “Every night. Every day. When we rode our bikes on long stretches of road through deserts and mountains. I never stopped thinking about you.”

“ _Keith_.” The name slips from his lips, a plea and a prayer, breathless and sweet. His hands curl into the pillows by his head, breath coming quick as Keith’s fingers set into a steady pace. 

He hooks a hand under Lance’s knee, lifting the leg up until his calf is propped up on his shoulder. He then turns his head, kissing between the threads of the fishnets, eyes still meeting Lance’s through his lashes. “You are mine, and I am yours.” His breath whispers across Lance’s calf, smooth and sensitive from where he had shaved for this party and this outfit. “And if I have to, I’ll spend every day reminding you of that.”

With one last nip to his calf, Keith gently lets Lance’s leg drop back to the bed. He pulls out his fingers, wiping them absently on the sheets. Lance whines at the loss, but it’s quickly cut off with a hitched breath as Keith pulls off his shirt. 

He’s just as chiseled as Lance remembers. Skin a pale porcelain, sculpted like living marble. Lean muscles stretching and flexing as Keith pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. Broad shoulders and chest. A narrow waist. Defined collarbones. A thick, dark happy trail. 

That smoky cat tattoo covering one of Keith’s sexy fucking forearms. Lance had no idea he even thought forearms were sexy until he met Keith.

He looms over him, up on his knees, smirking down as his hair falls around his face and grazes his shoulders. Lance hadn’t noticed how long it had gotten. His ears are perked forward, tail flicking behind him. His nails are back, sharp and wicked, as he reaches forward and takes firm hold of Lance’s hips—

“Keith!” A gasp rips from him as Keith flips him. Unceremoniously. Easily. Maneuvering him onto his stomach and then up onto his knees as if he weighs _nothing_. 

A large hand pushes firmly to his upper back, pushing his chest to the bed. Meanwhile the other hand brushes the strips of his skirt away, up over his hips and exposing his bare ass. And there he pauses, hand running over the mound of his ass, grabbing onto each fleshy cheek and giving them a squeeze. 

Lance hums, boneless and satisfied—

And then _yelps_ when Keith’s hand comes down _hard_ , stinging one cheek and sending his flesh bouncing. His body jolts, blood _singing_ with a thrill and satisfaction. Heat surges to his cheeks just as it does down to his gut. 

He turns to peer over his shoulder, eyes lidded, cheeks flushed, and breath ragged as he takes in Keith looming over him. Crowding close, knees spreading Lance’s legs. Pinning him down. 

Keith meets his eyes with a hungry smirk, and then slowly— _agonizingly_ slowly— reaches for the front of his jeans. Flicks open the button. Lowers the zipper. Pushes jeans and boxers down his hips until his cock springs free—

And Lance swallows hard against the needy whine that threatens to slip past his lips. 

Flushed and hard. Thick and swollen. Long and framed by dark curls. Keith’s cock is _pretty_. Just like the rest of him. Lance should have known. Should have guessed. 

He needs that cock inside him _now._

But Keith is determined to _torture_ him. He takes his time to cover himself with lube, stroking himself while leaning back, his other hand palming Lance’s ass. 

“ _Keeeith,_ ” he whines, swaying his hips back and forth to both entice and show his impatience. 

“Use your words, Lance,” he says, voice a low, amused rumble. 

Lance huffs, trying to push back against him, but instead just earns another slap to his ass. “Keith!”

“Come on, Lance,” Keith whispers, holding Lance’s cheeks apart with one hand while pushing the head of his cock to his fluttering, needy hole. Lance’s breath hitches, body going tense. “Tell me what you want.” 

“ _You_ ,” he breathes, voice barely audible and broken. He meets Keith’s gaze over his shoulder, pleading with his eyes. “I want you, Keith. Baby boy, _please_. Fuck me. _Fuck me_ , baby boy— _fuck!_ ”

His hands claw at the sheets, curling tight as Keith pushes inside him. A gasp rips from his throat, choked and desperate. His body tenses for a moment before he hears Keith’s soft noise of concern, strangely out of place and yet equally comforting. He forces himself to relax, taking a deep breath and going boneless as Keith pushes into him agonizingly slow.

“Fuck,” Keith hisses between clenched teeth as he bottoms out, hips pressed flush to Lance’s ass. He lets out a shaky breath, hands moving restlessly up and down Lance’s thighs, over his ass, up his hips beneath the skirt of the dress. “ _Lance.”_

And Lance just sighs, holding his arms beneath his head as he adjusts to the feeling. So deliciously stretched and overwhelmingly _full._

“Lance,” Keith breathes, voice surprisingly ragged and oddly hoarse, hinging on a desperate plea as his nails bite into Lance’s hips. “I can’t— I have to— I’m gonna—“

“Move,” Lance whispers, glancing over his shoulder with a small reassuring smile. “Please?”

A smirk tugs at Keith’s lips, eyes dark and lidded. He holds tight to Lance’s hips as he pulls back slowly, both of them enjoying the sinful _drag_ , moans slipping from their lips as Keith snaps his hips forward, burying himself once more, quick and rough. 

“I don’t think I can hold back,” Keith rumbles, voice tight. 

Lance lets out a breathless laugh. “I never asked you to.”

The chuckle he gets in response is low and molten. Heated with hunger and shaped with desire. “You don’t know what you’re in for.”

Lance hums, stretching out and showing off the curve of his back, knowing that this dress makes his waist look damn fine and shows off his broad shoulders. Pushes his ass back and squeezes tight just to hear Keith’s pleased _hiss_. And looking smug, he glances back at him, a small smirk on his lips. “Whatever it is, I know you’ll take care of me. Won’t you, baby boy?” 

That smirk is promptly wiped from his mouth as Keith pulls back quickly, until his head is nearly slipping out past Lance’s fluttering rim, and _slams_ his hips forward. The force of it jolts Lance into the mattress, a broken breath punched from his lungs, his hands scrambling to clutch at the sheets as his gasp trails off into a low moan. 

And Keith? That smug, devilish, beautiful bastard. He doesn’t give Lance a _second_ of reprieve. Not a single second to revel in the sensation of being filled. Not a second to adjust after that initial thrust. 

He immediately sets a _brutal_ pace. Hard and fast. Deep and rough. Pulling the long length of his cock nearly all the way out, leaving Lance despairingly empty, before slamming forward once more. Filling him completely. Giving him no time to _appreciate_ it before he’s going again. And again. And _again._

The loud slap of flesh-on-flesh fills the room. Keith’s hands grip Lance’s hips, nails biting and sharp, pulling Lance back to meet every thrust. Each one punches a breath out of Lance, rattling past his vocal cords and _ripping_ moans from his throat. 

“ _K-Keith_ ,” he tries to say, but it’s broken and hoarse. The word is torn and breathless, formed around a half-formed moan. “Keith— _fuck_ — Keith!” 

His knuckles grip the sheets until they ache, his head buried in the crook of one arm. He can feel the sweat beading on his skin. It’s hot— so hot— _too hot_. A fire burning low in his gut and heat building where the dress— tattered both by design and by Keith’s claws— clings to his body. 

And yet all he can focus on is how thick Keith feels inside him. How _good_ the drag is. How the stretch burns in the best of ways. How hot and heavy, possessive and protective, Keith’s hands feel on his hips. Nails digging in like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded to Lance. 

And Keith—

_Keith._

If Lance listens past the sounds punched from his own throat and past the rhythmic slap of flesh when their bodies meet. He can hear _Keith._

Keith’s ragged, raspy breaths. His low, rumbling groans. The harsh, bitten off grunts as he thrusts forward, burying himself as deep as he can go. The hiss— the _hiss_ — the hiss that at first sounds like a sharp exhale, but the more he listens, the more it sounds like his _name._

“ _Lance_ ,” he hisses out, low and barely audible, like an exhale formed around Lance’s name, hissed between his fangs. “ _Lance._ ”

A chant. 

A prayer.

A plea.

Lance loves it. Makes his chest swell with heat and a gentle fluttering. Wrapping him up in a fondness that makes him hazy and light, so blissfully content as Keith pounds him into the mattress. 

One hand leaves Lance’s hip, reaching up to catch the back of his dress, _shredding_ it as his hand rakes down Lance’s back, the tips of his claws catching along the bumps of his spine. Lance arches against it with a pitchy moan. 

The fabric falls away from his back, clinging to his body only where it’s bunched around his hips and waist. And then Keith is leaning forward, pressing his chest to Lance’s bare back. Keith is so warm, chiseled and firm. Lance’s head is bowed forward, and Keith nuzzles at the back of his neck. 

He adjusts his knees behind Lance, adjusting for the new angle to keep up his brutal pace— 

And Lance _howls_. A high pitched desperate moan that borders on a _scream_ is torn past his lips as Keith hits his prostate straight on. Sparks sizzle through his veins, body on _fire._

Keith doesn’t slow— doesn’t relent— just keeps pushing Lance closer to that edge, pressure building in his body, coiling tight and hot, filling him until he’s teetering on the precipice of _release._

And with one hand still gripping his hip, Keith’s other hand slides around. Shoving strips of fabric away to wrap his fingers around Lance’s swollen, neglected cock. Giving it a few strokes in time with his thrusts. 

“ _Keith_ , I’m—!” 

He doesn’t get a chance to finish. In that moment, Keith licks up the last few notches of his spine, opens his mouth, and sinks his fangs into the back of Lance’s neck. His jaw locks, biting down _hard._

Lance might have screamed, but he honestly doesn’t know for certain. Not with the way he tumbles over the edge, coming hard in Keith’s hand. 

Keith thrusts once— twice— and on the third, he buries deep, groaning long and low in his throat. His hips roll lazily through his orgasm, filling Lance with warmth. 

For a brief moment, both of them stay exactly like that. Poised and bodies taut. Still as stone as they revel in the moment— before they collapse. It happens all at once. Keith relaxes his jaw. Lance’s body topples to the side, taking Keith down with him. 

Keith stays like that for a moment longer. Body curled around Lance’s, holding him around the waist. Keeping the angle _just right_ to stay buried inside him as he softens. And as Lance closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath, Keith licks at the spot on the back of his neck. It stings like a bitch, and he’s pretty sure skin broke, but he can’t even bring himself to be mad. 

Not when Keith is _purring_. A pleased, content, low rumble. Lance can feel it vibrate against his back. Soft and soothing. It lulls him into a light doze. Mind heavy and hazy. Body exhausted and sated. 

He whines when Keith eventually pulls out, disgruntled by the sensation of cum leaking out of him, but unwilling to do much about it for the moment. He’s _more_ disgruntled when Keith uncurls himself from Lance’s body and slips out of the bed, but that quickly turns to pleasant surprise when he hears the bathtub faucet start to run. 

Keith comes for him a few minutes later, scooping him up into his arms and carrying him to the bathroom. He sets him gingerly on his feet, taking it upon himself to remove the tattered remains of Lance’s dress and fishnets. He then, with an adorably sheepish smile, hands Lance a wet washcloth to clean himself up with before turning back to the bath. 

When they settle into the warm water, Lance sighs happily, sitting between Keith’s legs, melting back against his chest. Keith’s head rests against his own, hands tracing idle patterns along Lance’s body beneath the water. 

Lance dozes once more, lulled into a boneless state by the soft purr rumbling from the man behind him. 

Just like magic. 

* * *

“Who’s a good boy?” Lance gushes, tying the ribbon under Kosmo’s chin. He sits still and patient, even if his lower half wiggles and his tail swishes excitedly. A couple of the younger kittens try to swat and pounce at it. “ _You_ are. Yes, you _are_.” 

“I can’t believe you’re putting cat ears on my dog,” Keith says from where he’s leaning against a wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He’s trying to sound deadpan, perhaps a little disgruntled, but Lance can hear the amusement. 

“Yeah? Well, I can’t believe you’re a witch who can turn into a cat, and you got a _dog_ as a familiar.”

“ _He_ chose _me_ ,” Keith grumbles, and Lance snickers. It’s an old subject by now, but Lance will never get tired of teasing him for it. 

When the black cat ears are fit snuggly to Kosmo’s head, Lance runs his fingers through the dog’s thick fur, ruffling him as he coos. “There you go. Now you fit in with all the others.”

Admittedly, he looks a little ridiculous, but Lance thinks it’s hilarious. And really, since when have they cared about being a little ridiculous? Besides, Kosmo looks happy. All dressed up in cat ears and a bandana with a galaxy print. He fits right in. 

“You’re just lucky he’s good with the cats,” Lance says as he stands, giving Kosmo one last lingering pet before sauntering over to Keith. 

“Of course, he is.” Keith says it like it should be obvious, even though Lance had definitely had his doubts and reservations when Keith had brought home a large puppy. To a _cat cafe_. But they’d _both_ given Lance the biggest and most precious puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen, and he could bring himself to tell them no. 

Thankfully, Kosmo gets along amazingly well with all the cats. He’s respectful, and they love him. Must have something to do with being a witch’s familiar. There’s a spark of intelligence in his eyes that reminds Lance of when Keith was Red. So much so that he had once asked Keith if he was _sure_ Kosmo wasn’t just another cursed witch. 

He’s not, but he _does_ have a bond with Keith’s soul or whatever. 

Point is, their little family is a little bigger, and Lance’s apartment is _definitely_ not lonely anymore. 

Their bed is often overcrowded, often overheated, but Lance doesn’t mind. With a still growing husky mix, Blue, and Keith surrounding him, he never feels alone. Sleeping has become surprisingly easy.

“Now that your dog is a proper cat, _you_ just need to be a proper witch.” With a smirk on his lips and mischief in his eyes, Lance pulls the hat off his own head. it’s small, pointed, and black, decorated with black lace and sequins, attached to a headband. He slips the headband onto Keith’s head, sliding it gently into his hair and fluffing up the lace. “There. Perfect.”

Keith doesn’t seem to mind. He just smiles that small, fond smile. Eyes lidded as he stares at Lance. Blinking slowly. “You know that whole thing is myth, right? We don’t and never have worn hats like these.”

“Maybe,” Lance hums. “But in my cafe, you do.” His hands drop to Keith’s shoulders, sliding up to wrap loosely around his neck. Keith’s arms unfold automatically, wrapping around Lance’s waist to pull him in close. “Just like how in my cafe, black cats bring nothing but _good_ luck.”

Keith ducks his head forward, nuzzling his nose along Lance’s jaw. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” Lance tilts his head back, eyes falling closed, fingers playing with the hair at Keith’s nape. “You’re my good luck charm, baby boy.”

Keith’s lips move against his jaw, breath hot and voice low. “I love you, Lance.”

Lance doesn’t hesitate, turning his head to mumble against Keith’s forehead, “I love you, too, Keith.” He can feel Keith’s smile against his skin. Feels his own aching in his cheeks. He lets himself bask in it. In Keith. In this moment. “I’m really glad you crossed my path.”

Because he’s _happy_ , and Keith is happy, and for now? That’s all they need.

**Author's Note:**

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